


Pay Your Dues

by TheTargaryenHarlot



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: #BlessedFicWeek, Alternate Universe - John Wick (Movies) Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aunt/Nephew Incest, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Shameless Smut, Violence, targcest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-21
Updated: 2019-08-21
Packaged: 2020-08-20 04:20:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20221705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTargaryenHarlot/pseuds/TheTargaryenHarlot
Summary: Jon Snow, the most notorious hitman in the underworld, is tasked with a job by his aunt and boss, Daenerys Targaryen. Supposed to be a simple assassination, things turn a little awry during the job. Jon puts into the ground more bodies than he originally anticipated. It also doesn't help that he had to put a little more effort into the job too.And he's not happy about it.Jon Snow demands proper compensation.





	Pay Your Dues

**Author's Note:**

> A late entry for the #BlessedFicWeek event. Praise Soria for all these blessings! 
> 
> Btw, posting anything on AO3 is a chore sometimes; the fact that it messes with formatting is a real pain in the ass, so apologies if you come across some strange mistakes. I went over it three times, but I'm sure there are some lingering mistakes that need clean up.

_ AC 2010..._

_January 13th..._

_The Reach..._

_Oldtown City..._

_... _

Jon didn’t mind waking up in the early hours of a Monday morning, or any morning for that matter, as he had always been an early bird. And you know what they said about the early birds; they always got the worm. Today was an exception; a ubiquitously biting wind with penetrative chills made Jon tighten his long coat around his body just a little more and rub the sides of his cheek to avoid having them windburned. His hands were covered with black gloves, but even those didn’t help him fight off the lack of blood running through his fingers. Jon rubbed his hands together; damn, this year’s January was particularly cold, and nobody around seemed to appreciate it. 

Walking down the street, the throng of people made their way towards their destination, wherever that was, minding their own business and not at all aware of anything except for the cracked grey brick tiles of the lanes they were trudging over. Glancing around himself did he notice the lack of stares thrown his way. Jon somewhat mastered to blend with the masses, but could still stick out like a sore thumb because of the scars carved alongside his eyebrow and cheeks. Nobody bothered him thanks to them, but the occasional wrinkly frown was thrown his way by some prudish old lady, clutching their purposes a little tighter to their frail person. This time, nobody spared him a glance for once, and Jon liked the absence of unwanted eyes on his being for a change. 

Jon elusively made his way across the stone path; people brushed against him and he gently brushed some of them as well, his touch as noticeable as a ghost’s. This was his field of work; to be an existence nobody knew of, and nobody shouldknow of. A big city never blinked an eye anyway over one of its countless citizens, so that little bit of negligence greatly helped Jon too. 

After a good bit of walking down the street, Jon finally dragged his feet to a stop just before the wooden doors of a jewelry shop with its shopkeeper currently in the process of placing his merchandise in the showcases. It had an authentic, classy appearance with its doorknob that of a dragon's head and the frame gilded. 

Momentarily, the man stopped his advances to curiously glance upwards when he noticed a looming shadow, only to meet Jon’s eyes before resuming his work. Jon pushed the door open with a gloved hand and a soft ringing echoed in the small hall. The shop was empty, save for its keeper of course, and the various jewels lying on display, each one of them looking like they would cost a small fortune. 

“Good morning, sir. Excuse me, we’re not yet fully open to receive customers as of right now. Perhaps if you returned in an hour or so, we’d be more than glad to receive you.” Oh, this was new to Jon; the man behind the counter who greeted him wasn’t quite a man, it was a young lad probably around the age of fifteen or something. Jon didn’t notice through the window when he walked in, but now that he was inside, he realized that this boy wasn’t Davos even though he did resemble the jeweler a lot. Black messy hair, similar plain face although much younger and the standard man-of-war emblem sewn on his work jacket. Could it be his son? 

“Don’t worry. I’m not here for your gemstones.” Jon answered finally as he pulled out a gold coin from his pocket and flipped it to the young man. "Are you alone here?" 

He looked confused for a moment as he deftly caught the piece of metal and raised his eyebrow, the other stubbornly refusing to mimic the action; if not for the jewels, what _was _the man doing in a _jewelry, _the young lad probably wondered. 

"Pops is behind the store, checking on some ledgers." He examined the coin he caught in his palm and went with a finger over the designs of it, admiring the work. A dragon had itself squirming around the edges of the metal piece with a small capital letter T engraved in the middle. It left the youngster guessing what it meant. 

“Don’t bother cranking your brain about it, Devan. He’s here for a different kind of merchandise.” A new, much gruffer voice joined in as an older man from behind the counter appeared, walking to the young boy and clapping him on the shoulder lightly. 

He took the coin from the boy’s hand and made it disappear in one of his pockets. Yes, that was Davos Seaworth, the man Jon had come to know as a man who couldn’t hold his drink even if it meant his life depended on it. And Jon was right that the kid was his boy; the two even raised their eyebrows the same way, as neither of the two was able to raise their right one whenever they looked surprised. 

“What do you mean, pops? You sell other stuff than jewels?” Devan continued to look like a lost puppy as he questioned his father. Davos, on the other hand, didn’t bother, or actually didn’t want to bother, and ushered his son to grab the boxes behind the store and get them inside. That seemed to make the young boy lose interest and soon Devan went on his way and did as he was told, leaving the two older men alone to discuss whatever they wanted to discuss. 

“You don’t look happy to see me, Davos.” Jon stated matter-of-factly. Said man didn’t try to hide the grimace he was giving Jon. 

“Of all days you could have come by, it had to be the day my kid is having Parent’s Day.” Jon's smiled tightly, the beginning of an answer concocting in his mind already. 

“I’m sorry for barging in unannounced, though, you _do _have a history of forgetting things. Dates included. I’ve informed you ahead of my arrival.” 

That earned Jon an offhanded grumble; he didn’t hear him retort back. Davos always had a witty remark at the ready if the occasion gave him an opening. Now though, he was the one at fault for forgetting he was about to receive a special client. Jon was respectful of dates. Hence why Jon knew Davos decided to better not continue. 

Both men were climbing the stairs to the second level, and once there, Davos began to rummage through his pocket in search of his keys, which he fished out in a couple of matters just as they were about to stop before a door. Unlike the other ones, this door was made of solid wood and Davos slid the key into the hole and turned it with a flick of his wrist open before he pushed the door with a little bit of extra strength. 

On every side of the walls were weapons of various sizes; from small handguns to automatic rifles to combat knives to explosives. Even a rocket launcher found its resting place right on a rack in the middle wall between a pair of snipers. In the middle of the room was a table with ammunition of different kinds placed in an orderly fashion, not a single bullet out of place. 

“So, who is the unlucky sod this time, Jon?” Davos brought a small box of bullets and examined it as he posed the question. Jon did the same and began browsing through the bullets and guns lined up in front of him, ultimately stopping before a sniper rifle. 

“A man who is called Daario Naharis. I heard he is making a name for himself in the underworld. Too much apparently.” Jon grabbed the rifle off of its rack and took aim, trying to get a feel of it. 

Davos gave a short chortle as he noticed what Jon picked. He was known for his favoritism, and Braavosi rifles always had a special place in his heart. His time with the Faceless Men had fostered his love for their guns. 

“Extortion, money-laundering, prostitution, arms-trade, you name it and the man has a piece of the pie.” Davos summed up as he went around collecting 7.62x51mm bullets. Two packs sufficed; Jon was more than certain. Hell, now that he thought about it, even one was enough, but he was never sure. Davos knew Jon was not one who wasted bullets. Sometimes, circumstances had a habit of changing, and Jon was a man who liked to plan even for unlikely events. 

With that in mind, Jon grabbed another pack of bullets back and grabbed a case. Davos loaded up the necessities for Jon. 

“Alright, Davos. I’m in need of additional–“ 

“-A Myrish lens polisher, a pair of gloves, a short and a large distance scope, a pair of suppressors, some gun grease and…” Jon furrowed his brows as Davos presented a pink box of chocolates with a little bit of pride. It was small enough to fit inside his pockets. “...a batch of Hot Pie's sweetmeats to ease the nerves.” 

Taking the chocolates, Jon looked pointedly at the older man. 

Davos chuckled. “This isn’t the first time you’ve strolled into my shop, you know?” The jeweler started to detach the rifle Jon had chosen and then placed it expertly into the black case. 

“I never understood the appeal of these chocolate truffles.” Davos smiled gregariously as the two men made it outside of the room. 

“Loosen up, will ya, boy? They’re a fine brand of indulgences, all that healthcare nonsense be damned.” If Jon wasn’t sure, Davos almost sounded_ offended _when he said he found the taste of chocolates not appealing at all. “Besides…” Davos leaned in a little further. “Your lady knows what she wants and I’ll be more than happy to give her quality content. My dear wife earns a fortune because of her, after all.” Jon couldn’t help but agree as he gave a terse nod. His _lady _certainly knew what she wanted, and had no qualms spending outrageous amounts of money on it. 

Jon and Davos made it downstairs and the shopkeeper handed over the case loaded with Jon’s rifle. 

“Where will you be headed?” Taking hold of the doorknob, Jon glanced behind his shoulder as Davos posed the question, the man currently setting up shop for the day by wiping clean his showcases with a cloth. 

“King’s Landing. I have to catch a plane by noon. Right now, it’s…” He gazed at the clock right above the counter. “...nine past ten. I got some time left, so I’ll head back to the Interstate, talk with her about some business and get my luggage ready.” Nodding, Davos grabbed his set of keys and his hands started to distribute several new pieces of trinkets across the showcases. 

“I better not keep you up then, son. I have a business to attend to as well.” Then his attention focused to other matters and Jon took that as his cue to leave the shop. He barely made it to the door when Davos’ voice rang one final time through his ear shouting mirthfully a few words that made the man stop momentarily. “Happy hunting, Mr. Snow!” He said nothing in return, instead opting to stay silent for a moment. Everyone knew what they meant. 

It meant someone was about to fall victim to the Underworld’s harsh ministrations. 

With a final wave and goodbye, Jon pushed open the door and once again joined the pedestrians of Oldtown City, this time carrying a black case in one of his gloved hands. With his tools now prepared, Jon strode across the street, heading towards a different destination. Nowadays, he had only destinations to get to and get by and they brought a pedantic rhythm to his life. Preparing that, speaking to him, taking a ride there; his lifestyle was a stark color of grey. Spartan, but perfectly suited for a man like himself. And never dull in the least contrary to popular belief. 

The throng of people he walked along with eventually merged with an even bigger mass, all of them now entering the main road that cut right through the city. If one would follow this road from one end to the other, they’d find themselves at the opposite side of the city. 

Jon stuck out a hand and waved for a cabby to halt near him. He didn’t need to wait long, as a yellow car broke off the stream of vehicles and parked right in front of his black shoes. Stepping inside, Jon placed his coffer next to him and brought out a pen and a notepad. 

“Sixth Crescent Street 231. Please, I don’t want to take the tourist route. Get me there within twenty minutes...” The sound of paper getting torn off reached the cabby’s ears and the bushy mustache that he sported wiggled a little in gleeful surprise as the numbers written down on the check came to view. “… and you’ll get a handsome fee for your efforts if you do.” 

* * *

Surely, within those twenty minutes the man drove his taxi, Jon was convinced the check wouldn’t cover all the bills that the cabby gained from violating nearly_ thirteen _traffic rules in order get in time at the designated place. 

Out of pity, Jon wrote another check to the taxi-driver when they came to their destination, and the burly man happily took it as if it was charity. He had to give it to him, they _did _manage to get from the other side of Oldtown City to the Interstate in _eighteen _minutes. So it was only fair Jon paid the man what was due to him. 

Jon’s heels clicked hard on the tiles of the streets as he ambled towards a tall building with the words ‘Interstate Hotel’ above its ornamented doors. 

The building was luxuriously, almost aristocratically, built with its gothic style and various gargoyle statues placed at each corner of the square. It was built with beige colored bricks imported from Qohor, whose very economy thrived on its quarries which mined the highest quality of concrete material. The Interstate was also festooned with stained glass all across it. The building had a particular classic charm to it, seeing as it wasn’t built with contemporary architecture in mind. It made sure its patrons felt like the aristocrats of the early modern ages. 

Jon made his way towards the entrance and greeted the doorman with a quick nod, who answered in kind by courteously opening the door for him with his white-gloved hand. The inside of the hotel was even more striking, as the windows were covered with red velvet curtains partially opened for people to barely gaze inside, a magnificent reddish marble floor and a grand crystalline chandelier hanging above the reception with doves, gooses as small designs on each and every tip. The walls were covered with classic paintings of the Renaissance and the Age of Enlightenment, faces of great philosophers like Marwyn and Theobald depicting their most significant achievements, as well as historical world events like the Doom of Valyria and the first recorded time of the Long Night. It felt like walking into a history lesson. 

In the middle of the floor was the emblem imprinted of the Interstate Hotel chain, the first letters of the two words in crimson comprising the famous hotel chain which conquered the world with its hollowed diamond banner. 

Jon made a beeline towards the reception and placed his case on the floor while he grabbed his wallet. 

“Good morning, sir. Welcome to the Interstate Hotel. How may I be of service?” A young woman with curly brown hair politely chimed as she curtly looked at Jon with expecting eyes. The employees of this hotel were dressed in the sharpest set of clothes available for men and women. They were tailor-made, smooth and extraordinary posh garbs fit for servants working for a royal family. It was no surprise many of the employees strutted around the building like peacocks; if nothing else, they certainly had the metaphorical feathers. 

“Good morning, I'd like to check-in.” Jon spoke curtly, placing his case on the table. The girl began typing on her keyboard when he gave his hotel card. 

“Of course, sir. Would you be kind enough to state your room number?” She further questioned as her fingers were filling in the necessary information. 

“Room triple seven.” Jon answered as the brunette handed him his card back. Jon started to write a little note on his notepad while waiting for the girl to finish her business, but it took a little longer than expected, so he gazed up and discovered the girl looking a bit bemused. She seemed to have stumbled on a little issue as her trimmed brows furrowed in slight confusion. She then regarded Jon with her troubled look. It was the first time she actually took a good look at him, and by the little pink tints on her cheeks and startled eyes, she flushed with abashment. _ D__on't get distracted now…I got better things to do than getting gawked at. _

His aunt always teased him with his disposition; the scars, the crimped black ringlets, a sharp face with a quick jawline and high cheekbones, deep dark eyes bordering stormy grey and blood purple and lips slightly fuller than the average man usually sports. It proved to be a pain sometimes with the opposite gender. 

“Uhm, I’m sorry sir, but in our register, no such room exists…” Jon raised a questioning eyebrow. Unlikely, she surely made a mistake. 

For a good solid minute, he gazed deeper into the girl’s brown eyes as she stated the problem, pinning her to her chair. The woman flushed he noticed, a scalding heat creeping over her neck, squirming uncomfortably at the stare she was given and fidgeting slightly in her seat while her doe-like eyes darted a little around like she was about to get scolded by her parents. 

Just as Jon opened his mouth to speak, someone interjected. 

“Jeyne!” Both of them watched how a man of mousy brown hair and a pair of black glasses resting on the bridge of his nose hurriedly made his way towards them. He slid to a halt when he stood next to the brunette’s desk, whose name was apparently Jeyne, and smiled assuredly. “I have something different for you to do right now. Let me handle this and you go see Irri about some administrative issues.” 

The brunette owlishly blinked a couple of times before it reached her ears what her supervisor told her, and with a meek reply she scurried off to find her coworker and help her with that problem. 

“The lady hired a new employee, Loras?” Jon commented as he grabbed his case and waited for the chestnut-haired man to finish what the girl had troubles with. Loras chuckled tersely, almost done with Jon’s check-in. 

“You got her pretty scared by the looks of it. Or all hot and bothered. Perhaps a little bit of both, I reckon?” Loras’s chuckle deepened as he came at the receiving end of Jon’s uneasy frown by making that comment. “Don’t give me that, if you swung the other way, I wouldn’t have hesitated to get into your pants.” Jon frowned deeper, but Loras was unaffected by its iciness. Probably because he was at the receiving end of it for a year now. “Anyway, she started this morning right when you left the hotel. A good girl, so she got to be omitted from the…_other _practices of our hotel. For the time being.” 

“For the time being? What is that supposed to mean?” Loras merely smiled, handing over the hotel card and offering a hand to the side leading to the elevators. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself? She’s waiting for you, after all.” The information made him grimace, bemused. 

“She’s still here? I thought she left a couple of hours ago for Essos.” Again, Loras gave his Cheshire smile. 

“Oh, you and I both know why she didn’t yet. Those Lysene truffles will be the death of her I’m sure. If not her death, and then surely to overweight.” 

Jon nodded, acquiescing that statement. It made sense. Lysene truffles always made her beam. She couldn’t resist her urges and waited for him to return with those Lysene chocolates. The snort escaped his lips loud and clear, and Loras chuckled even louder. 

Without further ado, Jon approached the elevators and stepped inside. At the left side was presented on what floor its passenger could travel to, all the way to the twenty-eight. Those twenty-eight floors were for the denizens that had no idea what the true identity of this hotel entailed. Jon wasn’t one of them. He grabbed his pen from his breast pocket and stuck it inside the emblem of the hotel right above the twenty-eight floor, making it burn a dull red color before the doors of the elevator closed slowly. 

Once at the top, the doors opened with a ding and Jon stepped out into a short hallway. Lavish paintings were scattered all across the sidewalls, but none of them brought a tear of admiration to Jon’s eyes. Wasted gestures of opulence in his opinion. At the end was a wooden ebony door engraved with intricate carves Jon didn’t care to admire either. He never was one to admire aristocracy. This very hotel screamed it. Only the woman he was about to see, he admired for her aristocratic appearance. 

Opening a door was never as much of an eyesore as it was now for Jon, because it led him to the one person that always managed to get under his skin no matter what she did. 

“Darling Jon! You’re finally here! Take a seat and let’s share a drink before you’re off murdering a man~” 

Oh yeah, she definitely got under his skin with her teasing. 

A petite beauty of a woman, with long braided silver hair, currently sat leisurely with one leg over the other in her leather chair while eying Jon entering her office like he was some sort of pricy jewel. 

A shrewd smile was present on her immaculate face, a feature she was notorious for across the entire world, both under and above. The people she brought to the brink of insanity with her flirtatious behavior and sharp wits were too many, and she was the center of both deep infatuation and unadulterated hatred from the people she had dealings with. 

The woman was dressed in a white designer gilet with a red satin undershirt underneath, unbuttoned at the top, displaying a small view of her perky and generous bosom. An equally dark colored pencil skirt of the same posh brand was cut to her knees, showing toned milky legs and a pair of gracious black _ C&L _ heels hanging on her feet to finish her looks. A platinum watch latched itself over her wrist inserted with little diamonds all over its clock and each of her ring fingers was decorated with a ring of Valyrian steel swathed with rubies. 

There were only few ways to describe this woman appropriately. Filthy rich. Absolutely stunning. Complete knock-out. An absolute vixen. 

One bat of her lengthy eyelash could make a lesser person commit murder. He was no exception, but Jon had reined in his urges more than a few times; it would be inappropriate to feel an inkling bit of attraction towards the woman that was his last family left. Not that he couldn’t help it sometimes...baser instincts made him itch a little now and then, but that was as far as it went. 

Jon took the chair opposite of the silver-haired woman and gave a courteous nod. “Always a pleasure to see you too, Dany.” The woman gave a beaming smile and took a glass before she poured in some for herself. 

“Care for a drink, love?” Daenerys offered an empty glass, one perfectly trimmed brow raised. Jon shook his head a little at her, declining the offer. It was eleven o’clock in the morning, and she sat there sipping at a glass of scotch carelessly? 

“No thank you, I have to keep a clear mind for the flight.” As he mentioned that, Daenerys brought out a flight pass from her desk and playfully threw it in front of Jon. In return, Jon grabbed the box of chocolates out his jacket pocket and placed them on the table. 

“As rigid and straight-to-the-point as always. You came for the flight pass to get to King’s Landing. Why always so dull, dear nephew?” Daenerys tittered while taking out a truffle. 

“Forgive me, dearest aunt. We all have jobs to do that keeps us busy.” The remark came as Jon took hold of the last bit of preparation for his journey. 

She faked hurt, puckering her lips in a small pout. “You never come to see little me these days. It’s quite hurtful, you know? Am I that hideous to look at? I know a lot of people who beg to differ.” 

On the contrary. Jon remained mute as he stood up from his chair, not daring to answer that question. 

Jon and Daenerys always left quite a lot unspoken between them. For the love of it, Jon had no clue what kind of thoughts swirled inside his aunt’s mind. 

He didn't know Dany for a whole lot of time; when he hit his twenty-fifth birthday last year, a blank letter from Oldtown waited in his mailbox, and that day, his entire life changed. Back then, he was just a generic vigilante who took it upon himself to get rid of pilferers around King's Landing; Jon was better off rooting out weed with a spoon. When he decided to take the letter for what it was worth, book a ticket to Oldtown and see who this Daenerys Targaryen was, he came to meet the most gorgeous woman in Westeros. She also happened to be his aunt. A playful, cheeky little thing with eyes that could melt steel. Her teasing was at best worrying and slightly peeving at worst. Jon never knew what she meant with her meticulously chosen words and little glances hidden with meaning. And he’s been trying to figure them out for a couple of years. 

In the past, it went even as far as unconsciously taking women to bed resembling his aunt, just to get the fantasy ticked off. Like Myrcella Baratheon, who was almost as beautiful as Dany. The nights he spent buried inside Cersei Lannister's perfect daughter were wild and full of broken beds. She had a knack for being a wild thing between the sheets, he had come to discover to his pleasure, nothing like the demure creature she showed the world. 

And yet...Jon's infatuation for his aunt never waned, no matter how many times he fucked a woman looking like her. 

Jon approached the door and was about to turn the knob when Dany’s voice stopped him. 

“Quick reminder, darling. Be careful; Naharis is as ruthless as they come and will do anything to ensure his own survival. He’ll prove to be a pain in the ass probably.” There was no playful hint in Dany’s voice this time; she was talking business now, and Jon found it a far more appealing attitude than her usual playful banter. 

"I'll keep that in mind, Dany." Turning around half, Jon spared the woman a face carved from stone. 

"I mean it, Jon." She reiterated, her finesse soft for a change. "I know asking you to be careful is a wasted effort. I don't doubt your talents, it's just that I worry from time to time." Coming to stand next to him, her small hands came to caress his arm as she spoke. Jon was no stranger to her affections, but neither was he overly accustomed to it. Something was bothering Dany. She only showed this soft side of hers when in doubt. 

“Have you ever met this Naharis guy?” Jon said. He got a nod from her, her eyes still looking pointedly at his arm. 

“At least once I remember. The man was a sleazebag then and I’m sure he still is.” 

“And when was the last time you spoke with this man?” 

Dany craned her head in thought at the question. “Maybe three months ago? Yes, something like that.” 

“Did you give him a proper goodbye? A kiss on the cheek?” Dany leaned back in, bearing her perfectly whited teeth in a knowing smile and she nodded at the question posed to her. Jon’s expression didn’t turn much, but the subtle changes did make Dany’s lip tuck upwards even further. 

“When _ we _say goodbye…” Jon kissed her on the cheek chastely, and then went to open the door and stepped outside. Just as he was about to close it, he regarded Daenerys with the final look that seemed to cause her to take her bottom lip between her teeth. “…It’s forever. All men must die after they’ve served their purpose. Valar Morghulis, sweet aunt.” 

Dany smiled again, and the lady thick with snowy hair grabbed one of her little guilty pleasures and plopped it into her mouth as she gazed outside the window overlooking the skyline of Oldtown. Her lips turned into that particularly alluring smile of hers while her eyes watched the skyline of Oldtown. 

“Forever indeed. Valar Doharis, dear Jon. Valar Doharis…” 

The door closed just as those words hang in the room, Jon leaving to get himself prepared for his journey to King’s Landing. 

* * *

_AC _ _ 2010… _

_January __14__th__… _

_The Crownlands__… _

_ King’s Landing__… _

_ … _

Unlike Oldtown, King’s Landing was a cesspool with no depth, the womb that breeds sin, corruption and debauchery, a never-ending orgy for the wicked. King’s Landing was once the seat of the High Septon until for propriety sake the Holy Sept of the Seven moved back to Oldtown. The power of religion and piety here had waned a very long time ago. Its size was three times perhaps that of Oldtown, so a man of little repute there was practically none-existent here. Every shadowy corner had a pair of eyes lurking in them. Watching your back in this city of crime was the cardinal rule that everybody followed because if you didn’t, the vultures would come and tear you apart limb from limb. 

Nowadays, the streets were filled with ambitious drug dealers, desperate escorts and guns-for-hire looking for quick money instead of upstanding citizens and dutiful law enforcers. The perfect place for crime to thrive. Jon, whenever on a job he had to perform it in this unholy city, sometimes visited a nearby sept and splashed his face with holy water afterward. He wasn't particularly religious, but water always tasted sweetest from the basin of a sept, and he liked the symbolism. 

Most of the targets he eliminated called this city their safe-haven, the Harrenhal of old, drifting on sweat, piss, blood, bones and other filth. And it is yet again this city he had to deprive of a citizen. 

_ No tears f__all f__or the wicked, though. _

When his plane landed a couple of hours ago, a car was already stationed outside the airport to take him wherever he needed to go, arranged by ‘Yours truly’ as the cabby quoted Dany. He arrived in a short time at the place he was given for preparations and Jon decided it was time to revitalize his dulled senses for the moment. 

He took a long cold shower, letting the icy droplets roll down his weary body and soothe his tired eyes. He needed a moment to refresh himself after a long flight before he could get to his job. Jet-lag always caused him a headache. Jon was no fan of traveling; it always brought him discomfort whenever he traveled, and it didn’t matter whether by ship, train or any other vehicle. He just didn’t like the knot in his stomach constantly twisting and coiling. It made him feel weak in the knees. At the mercy of a contraption that could any moment malfunction. 

Drying his hair and walking outside the bathroom, Jon grabbed the case placed on his bed and opened it, clad in nothing but boxers. Its content was placed neatly in their respective spot, fitted like a completed puzzle, and Jon started taking them out gingerly. 

Rearranging a gun was a precise job and required a great deal of focus; one small screw placed differently and firing it could prove to be fatal for its wielder. So, the next hour he spent arranging and separating his rifle repeatedly, applying some gun grease when need be, before taking aim and pulling the trigger a couple of times in exercise until he felt satisfied. He disassembled his gun again and placed its parts back in the case before Jon grabbed his notepad and started flipping through the small pieces of paper. He had written down what, when and where he was supposed to carry out Daario Naharis’ assassination. 

Daario Naharis was a fairly fresh mobster just recently climbing some stairs through the ladder of the underworld. He had a participation in about every single circle attached to the underworld; illegal arms-trade, money-laundering and all the generally known activities; you name it, and he worked in it. While not a special thug in particular, Naharis did commit a transgression during his last job. A transgression that wasn’t endorsed by the Small Council. And the Small Council had jurisdiction over every made man in the Westerosi underworld, be it a kingpin or a simple associate. So naturally, when word reached its ears about the course of action, they weren’t too pleased. 

When finished with dressing up, Jon grabbed his brown overcoat and threw it over his shoulders as his case dangled in the grip of his hand. Tonight, he would assassinate a man who didn’t adhere to the laws of criminals. Tonight, he was on a hunt. 

_Even criminals have rules__ in place to avoid total anarchy.__ Break one, and justice is served in the form of a bullet in your brain. If not for those rules, we'd be bringing down the eye of high society on our existence. Can't have that. The underworld only remains as such if it stays within the shades. And that means abiding the codex. _

Without much event Jon made it downstairs and marched straight out of his dwellings right onto the buzzing streets. Head pointed downwards and walking, near running, without a care around them was the usual way these people behaved. There was no eye-contact, there never was; one wrong look and it could potentially mean it was over. 

The atmosphere in King’s Landing was heady and thick enough to cut through it with a blade. Every single soul here lived with the cardinal rule dictating them. It was an unwritten code of life. A law part of a codex that till this day proved to be effective enough to keep together a hellhole like this city without widespread and public anarchy. It was crime at its finest. A silent toleration policy towards the darker face of this city that served as the source of all its misery and at the same time the biggest stream of income, black as it was. You can’t sever the hand that’s feeding you after all, even if it’s made of poison. 

Jon’s feet dragged him through the street until he spotted his driver taking a long drag of his cigarette and leaning against his car. When he noticed Jon, he instantly smoked the last bits before he threw it away promptly, trying to get himself ready. No words were exchanged when Jon and the driver stepped inside. There was no need; both knew what they were tasked to do. One drives, the other shoots. Plain and simple. 

So, with that thought in mind, the car pulled off and drove towards the designated spot. Jon sat in the back and took a grasp of his notepad and started scribbling something down. It was a habit he developed; Jon wrote anything that came to mind whenever he got sent on a job. Small notes, reminders, his plan of action and possible outcomes. He even described to himself his target. Was it a way to pass time? Perhaps a sign of anxiety, as unlikely as that was? Whatever it was, Jon sure got a lot of questions from his ‘acquaintances’ about it. Jon never gave an answer to them. Why reveal it? It wouldn’t make a difference if his targets knew about it. Once on the list, better to start considering a will, or arranging your own funeral. Would at least spare your relatives the headache. 

“Mr. Snow. We’ve arrived.” Four words. That was all they exchanged up until now. And more they didn’t need. Jon nodded to his cabby when he felt the car come to a stop, its tires grinding against the smooth tarmac with a screeching sound. Jon stepped out and was greeted with a tall building. A skyscraper that did its name justice. Jon’s eyes glanced upwards into the night’s sky, watching how the top of the building didn’t reach his sight. 

“Mr. Naharis is currently occupied in the building opposite of this one. We’ve prepared room 491 on the sixteenth floor for you. From there, you will have a perfect angle on him when he enters the designated place at the designated time. The Interstate wishes you a very good evening and a successful hunt, Mr. Snow.” Another fifty words; Instructions for the job. Dany's associates never made small talk. Made the job stark but efficient, but he guessed he had no real right to talk. He was just the same. 

The man tipped his hat and Jon would have done the same courtesy if he had one. He appreciated class. 

His driver disappeared within a couple of moments when he entered the car again, leaving Jon to play with his own devices. He clutched his case a little tighter and made his way towards the entrance. 

_ I better get se__t up __then. _

* * *

A chair, a small glass table, a rifle’s barrel protruding out of the window and a glass of scotch and Jon found himself waiting in this situation for three hours for Naharis to show his face. A bottle with a golden liquid inside was right next to his glass, currently at three-quarters of its content. Jon decided to play a little game with himself; every hour if Naharis didn’t show his face, he would take a gulp. The clock just turned eleven and he got himself prepared around eight, so three hours went by, and three shots as well. Jon felt a little bit dizzy; he wasn’t a real drinker. Sure, he enjoyed one now and then, but in general, he wasn’t one to hit the bar and get himself blown off his legs. 

But boredom was something he even less found a resistance against. It was either suffering boredom or getting a little drunk potentially. At the moment, he felt light-headed. Boredom was a stubborn virus, and the drinks began to feel less efficient in proving to be its cure. 

Jon’s boredom was thankfully short-lived when he decided to take an absent-minded look through the scope and see if he got lucky. And there he was, the fish he was trying to catch. Through the scope, Jon watched how Daario Naharis, dressed in a rose-colored shirt which was tucked in his leather pants, entered the room Jon was surveilling. He was known to be one for expensive stuff; each of his fingers blinked with a gold ring, and in typical pimp fashion his first two buttons were left open while his collar was folded upwards. The rather baroque locks of blue ringlets falling down his shoulders made him look exotic, though not the right type. This guy really fancied himself like a lady-killer. 

Jon wasted no time and properly took a hold of his rifle in a blink. He may have taken a couple too many glasses, but did it hinder his performance? No way. He was still as sharp as a butcher's knife 

His marker was positioned perfectly on Naharis’ head, who was strolling about with no sense of danger alerting him. Good. He wanted to give the man a quick and swift ticket to the afterlife without much fuss. 

But just as he was about to pull the trigger, just as Jon’s finger was about to shoot the bullet straight through the man’s head and paint the floor with his brains, something clogged him from doing it. Rather, someone. 

A young girl, hair undulatory like beams of the sun, ran into Naharis’ arms with a broad and innocent smile. Jon’s hesitation grew further as Naharis and this newly arrived girl approached the window, letting the girl stare outside to look upon the city’s lights. 

Jon’s aim loosened until he rested his rifle against the window’s edge and removed his eye from the scope. 

“Dany didn’t tell me about _ this _.” Jon murmured, not in the least bit happy of these unforeseen turns of events. He was stuck with a dilemma; shoot the bastard regardless and potentially traumatize the girl? Or take a different, perhaps more risky approach? Jon’s mind ran a hundred miles per second as he tried to decide what he would do now. 

Images suddenly flashed before his eyes; images of a young boy with black locks staring at a body, a pool of blood forming beneath him while someone made a run for it, his jacket barely concealing the gun he was trying to put away. That day was a foggy mess of splintered memories, but when he came back to his senses, Jon only remembered sitting in a police-office staring at the ground, eyes dull and broken until Uncle Aemon relieved KLPD and took him home. 

Jon’s mind was forcefully warped back to reality, the man shoving aside his childhood memories in favor of focusing at the task at hand. He made a decision as he placed his DTA SRS sniper rifle on the ground and grabbed into his brown coat, flashing a Beretta 92 pistol equipped with a silencer. He was prepared for certain scenarios, and Jon figured out that perhaps the job couldn’t be pulled off as easily as first perceived. So, he made a little extra preparation and included in his ‘luggage’ a semi-automatic pistol armed with a suppressor. 

_I guess I’ll have to g__et a bit up close and personal. _

Loading his firearm, Jon left his room with quick steps. He made no noise; his steps were elusive and silent, quite remarkable for someone who walked with a pair of finely polished dress shoes worth a grand per shoe, like all products made by Highgarden. He was outside in mere minutes, facing the opposite building where Daario was holding up with thoughtful eyes. He figured out that this building served as a corporate establishment, one equipped with security scanners as well as security officers as the main hall had a couple of guards looking around and keeping vigil like faithful watchdogs. 

_ Going throug__h the main entrance is a no-go. _

His eyes shifted and scanned the surrounding. A three-stored parking lot came to his view, one that was connected sideways to the building, and Jon figured there had to be an entrance leading towards his target there somewhere. He didn’t mind locked doors, they were easily lockpicked, he just didn’t want to be seen. So, Jon leisurely padded up to the parking lot building and ascended the stairs. When he made it to the final store, he was right in the end; an entrance led right into the building. Jon’s senses were keen though, and he knew without a doubt around him were cameras surveilling the area. Jon took his gun out and started searching for nearby security cameras. 

Searching didn’t take long for Jon; he knew cameras were placed systematically on spots covering the blind areas of each of their colleagues. Judging by the size of the third store and its rectangle shape, a total of six cameras had to be placed to effectively cover every single blind spot. Each one of them had to be placed at every corner of the rectangle, making up four of the six already known. In between the first and second one was most probably the third camera and the same went for the sixth situated between the fifth and fourth. Imagining a bird’s view, Jon pinpointed himself to be theoretically nearest at the third one, which was directly above the entrance of the stairway he was currently holding himself up. 

Jon leaned forward and tentatively glanced up, and there he spotted the small piece of technology vigilantly observing the area. Taking aim, his gun buzzed with a muffled sound before the camera went dead in the blink of a spark. One down, five to go. Systematically, Jon took care of the other cameras casting their eye on the door, deliberately leaving the two in the back intact or else he might rouse too much suspicion; he didn’t need to take all of them out, just the ones providing constant view on the entrance. The others he could evade simply. He proceeded with precise care as he took out the last obstacle in his way. Now all that was left was the door. 

It was a steel door, or perhaps an alloy since pure steel doors were in fact quite an expensive purchase. The lock didn’t seem very intimidating or exorbitant, but then again, this wasn’t a high-profile bank or corporation. Jon lucked out with his cards, apparently. Pressing an ear against the lock, Jon started his magic. The key to unlocking doors without their proper key, was listening how they whimpered. 

Jon fished out a thin piece of metal from his inner pocket and started digging very mindfully, taking every small groan and creak the lock elicited as the needle turned around in every nook possible. A click was Jon’s reward for patiently waiting and turning around inside the keyhole until he hit that sweet spot, and the door’s metal hinges groaned a little in protest when Jon pushed open the entrance. 

_ Open Sesame. _

Phase one of his plan was complete, and now it was time to turn to the second phase. 

* * *

Daario was much better guarded than Jon originally expected. It didn't take much effort to take out Daario's goons, though it still took quite some energy. Jon wasn't all too happy about it. 

A trail of bodies decorated the ground, and Jon just about snuffed the last of his target's bodyguards like he was putting out the wicks of small candles. Unwrapping his chokehold on his neck, Jon dragged him to the side, stuffed his body in some janitor's room and proceeded for the door at the end of the hall. 

It was Daario's bedroom, and Jon would have kept marching were it not for a hulking mass suddenly rounding a corner. Quickly, Jon ducked to the side, planting his back against the wall, hand already clutching his gun. 

He peered over the corner and the muscles inside his jaws became taut as he witnessed who just came ambling through the corridor. 

It was Areo Hotah. 

Aero was a polite associate in the Underworld, never one to assume things or go and tarnish the reputations of those still upholding some honor and dignity in this world while performing as their middleman. A gentle giant, if you may. Jon sometimes had to finish jobs in Norvos, and Areo had crossed his paths now and then. 

Originally, Areo was a lacky of Doran Martell, an utterly loyal watchdog for the Dornishman, ready to give up an arm for the safety of his contractor. His roots sometimes compelled him to help out his brothers in Essos. 

Once, his brothers asked for assistance against him. Areo was the only survivor. Jon wasn't even sure why he left him alive while most of his brothers were buried six feet under. Maybe it was because the hulk went out of his way and caught three bullets for a young boy who almost got hit in the cross-fire between him and the Bearded Priests. For his bravery to save a child from harm's way, Jon had spared him and taken care of his wounds. He came to know the Norvoshi quite well during that time. 

In Jon's book, Areo was a decent enough man, and it would be a shame if such people were put in the ground. With a heavy heart, Jon guessed Areo's time had come. 

With sharpened ears, Jon began to tune in on Areo's thundering footsteps, until they suddenly stopped. He heard the latch of a door open, and Jon reckoned he must've entered a room, so he ducked his head out, and indeed, he caught the last glimpses of Areo disappearing through a door. 

Not wasting any time, Jon stepped out of his hiding place and made a beeline towards the door. It was a restroom. Jon leaned his back against the wall, debating with himself. He was cross between waiting for the man and neutralize him before he became a threat, or head straight for Daario's bedroom. He settled with the latter after much debate, reasoning that perhaps he didn't need to take Areo out if he was fast enough. Nearing Daario's room, he wrapped his hands around the latch, opened the door and held his gun at the ready. Carefully, he opened the door and stepped inside, immediately blending with the darkness of the room. 

No sound could be heard; the room was dead. 

_ Did he anticipate me? Impossible... _

No stone was left unturned, Jon searched in every nook and cranny. Unsettled, Jon took a second to gaze out of the window, going through his thoughts. Suddenly, the creak of a door opening brought him back to the present and made him dash into a darkened room. Areo had entered. Holding his breath, Jon held his gun firmly, listening on the Norvoshi's footsteps. By the sound of it, he was going about the place in circles. Then, he stopped, coming to stand just where Jon was moments ago. 

Coming up behind the towering man, Jon pressed the barrel of his gun against the back of his head. Areo froze, his thick arms seizing and his shoulders squaring. 

"Hello Areo." Jon greeted. He still felt he owed Areo some courtesy. 

"Mr. Snow...?" He asked, surprised. 

"Correct." Jon noted that he had a little less of a bloated back. "_ You look healthier than before, Areo." _Norvoshi was never his strongest language, but Jon could decently speak it. 

"_I __decided to stop eating excessively, on the doctor's order." _Areo admitted. 

_ "Truly? For your heart problems?" _

"Yes, sir." That was good. At least he'd be going out as a healthy person. "You're the one who has been taking out my men, no?" 

Jon frowned. So he was in on all this, after all. "I'm afraid so." Areo nodded docilely, looking back at the window, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled deeply. He was accepting his fate. That's the way their world operated after all. But Jon didn't have it in him to put a bullet in Areo's brain and lowered his gun. While not an innocent man, people like Areo were still worth keeping around. "Take the night off, Areo. There isn't much you can do anymore. Go to Sunspear and ask Doran to pick out your jobs more carefully next time." 

His throat bobbed as he swallowed, and Areo took out his earplug while turning around to look at Jon. Towering over, Jon didn't feel in the least bit intimidated by the height difference. 

"Thank you, sir." He nodded, eyes reflecting his gratitude. 

Jon gave a curt nod back and slammed the butt of his gun across his face, knocking him out cold. The ground shook a little as Areo hit the floor with a fleshy thud, making Jon grimace. That would surely leave a nasty bruise. 

Exiting the room, Jon yet again stood in the corridor, the lights above flickering a few times. He raided Daario's bedroom earlier, but no trace of him was to be found there. Jon went about his work, trying to clue together Daario's location when he overheard two guards passing, snickering into their fists like two schoolboys how a tall brunette had entered the building with heels as long as their knives. The girl was directed to the conference room. And just like that, Jon had a hunch what his destination was supposed to be. 

After taking care of the rest of the lingering bodyguards, Jon finally made it to the floor where the conference room was. Up ahead was a double-doored entrance made of pricy woodwork. Slowly, he grasped the latch and opened one door. Jon was met with a dark room, small lamps hanging from the wall and lit up to give a semblance of vision. At the far end was a leather chair, and as Jon stepped inside the room, slurping sounds permeated the air, lewd slurping sounds. 

“Seven fucking Hells, you’re good at sucking dick.” Jon heard a man curse crassly; without a doubt it was Daario. Through the window glass, Jon witnessed how a girl on her knees was sucking the man off. He brought a hand to the brunette’s head and pushed himself deeper into her mouth, groaning loud enough for the sound to ricochet around; he didn’t care he was suffocating the woman, for she was gagging loudly "I'm not even nearly done with you. Paid good money for this. Those full and cushiony tits pressed against my legs will soon envelope something else entirely." 

Even though Daario's mind was intoxicated with lust, Jon was sure his ears did pick up the clack of his heels, the staccato snapping in short and quick succession. Daario was sitting on the chair behind the desk which was turned to the giant glass window at the end of the office, the young naked brunette lewdly bobbing her head up and down his girth, making sure she was pleasing him as much as he had paid her for. 

Through the window did Daario inanely pick up someone entering as the light of the hallway caught his attention, putting him suddenly on edge. 

“The fuck are you doing? Didn’t I tell you I’m in the middle of something? Get the fuck out before I–“ Daario failed to finish his sentence as his eyes clouded by lust slowly realized who just entered the room. 

Jon was known for his black hair slicked back, eyes as grey as steel and cold as ice and a face set in stone. Clad in a sharp black suit, a navy-blue turtleneck with an equally colored overcoat draped over his shoulder and a black scarf around his shoulders hanging openly and going down the length of his torso, he looked like a vengeful phantom. Daario shivered from where he sat. 

“Good evening, Mr. Naharis, a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Jon voiced out, witnessing the cold sweat starting to gather on his forehead. His handgun was on the table, and for a moment, Jon could see Daario's hand twitch in its direction, considering taking the gamble and see how it would turn out. The girl who was currently occupied devouring his cock didn’t notice the third person in the room and happily continued her job. Thought she must have found it quite a shock that suddenly Daario started to turn flaccid and lose his hardness, no doubt. 

Daario was weighing down his options, he could tell, but Jon proceeded to approach him step by step, agonizingly slow for the other mobster. Each step further drove Daario into a deeper sense of dread. There was only _one _reason why the _ Black Dread _himself would visit someone. 

In a messy display, Daario made a grab for his firearm, surprising the girl between his legs as suddenly the man’s dick got pulled out of her mouth. Daario was amazingly fast for someone who just enjoyed a blowjob, Jon was faster though. 

In a blink, Jon shot Daario's hand away from the gun and the man gave a loud scream before he clasped his bloodied hand in agony. By this time, the girl also became aware of Jon’s presence. Just as her patron gave a loud shriek, she did as well when the blood spread across the table splattered across her cheeks too. Jon aimed his gun’s muzzled barrel at the brunette and she skewered her jaws tight when she saw the muzzle of the gun pointed at her, smoke still blowing out of it. 

She kept trembling like a leaf, eyes dilated like that of an animal caught by a car's headlights. Jon had to admit, she kept her lips tightly shut and was quite impressed how she remained somewhat calm, though trembling lips and a shivering body were the telltale signs she was to break down any second now. Jon looked to his right in slight consideration at what he was seeing; she did stand there with her tanned skin, shapely formed breasts and hourglass figure on full display, and he was a hot-blooded male. 

“I’m afraid I have some business with this man, young lady.” Jon began as he lowered his gun and removed his coat. He approached the trembling young woman, his mind back to the task at hand. He threw it over her naked form and pointed at the door. “Please, keep your voice down and get out of here. Oh, and do close the door on your way out.” She nodded dumbly and scurried towards the door with the speed of a frightened kitten, disappearing through the door. She didn’t even close the door and Jon sighed tiredly as he walked up and closed it himself, not in the least mindful of Daario’s agonized groans of pain. 

In a moment Jon stood near Daario again, who was kneeling on the ground and clutching his wounded hand. Jon frowned at the man and tapped his gun against Daario's temple, who in fright cringed back in his chair. 

“Please put on your pants, Mr. Daario. Show some dignity, at least.” The question initially didn’t register with Daario; his mind was filled with bolts of searing pain, after all. After a few seconds did the guy finally make an attempt at putting his pants on, his clothes stained with deep-colored blood by the effort, and by now Jon grabbed a nearby chair and sat opposite of the man. 

“Do you know why I’m here, Mr. Daario?” Jon asked softly, his target breathing heavily and still not letting go of his hand. 

“O-of course I fucking do. Y-you take me for a fool?” Daario whizzed through labored breaths, clutching his bleeding hand. Despite putting a strong front, Jon had to only blow a breath into Daario's face and he’d crumble like a building during demolition. 

“Then you probably know how tonight will end. Right?” A look of anxiety marred Daario’s face, realization dawning upon him. He opened his mouth and tried to form any coherent syllable that came to mind, but Jon cut him off short by raising a hand. “Before you start offering, bargaining, threatening and begging your way out, I’ll give you an answer right away. You will not live another day, sadly. The Small Council saw to that when they declared you _persona non grata_. Please, tell me where the money is you stole from Septon Pycelle’s dead body and I’ll make it quick and painless. If you decide to be difficult ….” Jon leaned in and pressed the barrel of his gun right at Daario’s knee. “...then the night is going to be dark and full of terrors.” 

Jon’s words seemed to hit him like a wall of bricks as Daario started to shake even more violently than he did earlier. What made it all so frightening for his victims, or so he was told, was the lack of _any _emotion lacing Jon’s voice; He was not known for his arrogance, nor pride, not even sadism or cruelty. Clean and matter-of-factly during the ordeal, as clinical as doctors during head surgeries. Jon felt _nothing_ for the people he was about to eliminate, which made it, contrast, even worse. 

Daario shook his head, panting deeply, his bleeding hand starting to soak his sleeve. "F-fucking hell, the old perverted cunt deserved what he got, Jon Snow! I did all the work, and he just up and comes around the corner and takes more than _half _of the earnings! For what!? Because he's a member of some shitty religious sect of old fucks acting like priests to cover up the white-washing of my stacks!?" 

Jon tapped the muzzle against Daario's knee, not caring at all. The whimper Daario let out must've emasculated him completely because Jon barely contained his snort at such a wimpy sound. 

"Be that as it may, Pycelle and his people still play a vital part in the circle. You know that, you were part of it once yourself." Daario's eye twitched. It seemed he didn't like his past much. "The rules are clear about the privileges of middlemen; don't harm them, or they'll start talking. And additionally, Pycelle was a holy man. You might've gotten yourself a ticket to the Seven Hells for killing a septon." 

"Are you fucking k-kidding...? He was getting his dick sucked by two little girls when I walked in on him! In his own fucking sept! Whilst still wearing his fucking septon robes and calling the girls his 'children'!" 

Jon grimaced. Daario did have a point. "It's not up to us to judge him for the sins he commits and committed. That's up to the Seven to decide." The weight of his muzzle settled more firmly against Daario's knee and the man in question began to mewl pathetically. "Your rogue actions, though, they have caused a lot of troubles. The Small Council now has to find a replacement for him, and wicked priests aren't so much a common sight, especially one so easily bribed as Pycelle." Adding more pressure, Jon all but had his gun buried inside Daario. "Now, it would do you well to start talking. I don't want to prolong your suffering any longer than necessary." 

Jon worked to perform his tasks as methodical as military protocols, his words hitting too close to him. Dany told once him that people were visibly terrified of men like him; a man who could sit across you and be completely poised despite explaining how excruciating your death would be. 

Jon had a reputation that preceded him in the world of criminals. A reputation that had spread deep throughout the Underworld, made of powerful and tenacious roots. His name, Jon Snow the_ Black Dread_, was uttered by the veteran players of the crime world in silent whispers, afraid of the mere mention of his name. The mobsters feared him as children would be of a boogeyman. 

Dany especially reaped the fruits of his; after all, it was Daenerys Targaryen who ‘employed’ Jon and therefore enjoyed as much of a fearsome reputation as her employee. 

_ By our hand, crime empires rise and topple, darling nephew._

Jon waited while Daario’s mind broke off piece by piece before him, chipped away by his own fear. It was only a matter of seconds before he’d succumb to it, so Jon didn’t need to do anything but wait. He wasn’t very got at it, and he showed that by tapping his finger on the desk next to him, fueling Daario’s anxiety like oil on a fire. 

“Hello? Are you here, daddy?” Jon’s eyes dilated as a girlish voice innocently rang through the room. So lost in watching Daario, he failed to hear how a girl entered the room unannounced. Both men turned to her and watched how she gazed at Daario with wide eyes. Jon cursed under his breath as he watched the young girl. This was precisely the situation he wanted to avoid. 

Distracted for a moment, Daario took his chance and abruptly kicked Jon’s chair, who lost his balance and took a dive towards the ground. With a window of opportunity now presented to him, Daario grabbed the idle gun and made a run for the girl. Jon watched how he roughly took the yelping girl by the scruff of her neck and aimed at her. 

“Don’t you fucking dare take a step towards me or I’ll empty this gun's content inside her head!” His eyes flashed like that of a madman’s as he started breathing even more erratically. A trickle of sweat snaked its way down Daario's temple, his severe anxiety about to spill over the kettle. 

Jon got up from the ground and stood on his legs, eyes piercing straight through Daario's. He was in a pinch now; one mistake would end up in that girl’s death. The situation wasn’t particularly his problem; he could have simply ignored the threat and allow him to kill off the girl, but his conscience told him otherwise. Jon wanted to avoid an innocent's death. The sins of the father were not his children’s. 

The girl stood stock still in Daario's iron-like grip, and the suspense between Jon and Daario increased by the minute. Unbeknownst to Daario, Jon slowly slipped a small throwing knife out from between his waist and pants into his grip. What kind of an assassin would he be if he didn’t have a knife somewhere on his being? He was hesitating though; the girl was between him and Daario and this psychopath knelt so that his body was fully protected by his human shield. 

_ This is what Dany meant with ‘pain in the ass’ _

Jon briefly made eye-contact with the young girl, and what he saw took him by surprise. 

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t displaying anything. No fear. No hurt. Nothing. A perfect blank page. What was going on with this girl? Normal children would ball out their eyes if someone was aiming a gun at them at fatal point. 

Then, he briefly caught something. The girl’s eyes sharpened, a dagger from the whetstone, and she gave a very curt nod, brief enough for the dull-minded not to notice. But Jon wasn’t dull-minded. 

And then it happened. Daario never saw it coming. The girl made her move swimmingly.

By slamming the back of her head right into Daario’s nose.

It was a risky gamble she took, as Daario could have easily pulled the trigger in a panic at the sudden action, but luckily for her, he didn’t. With Daario momentarily dazed by his injured nose, Jon pulled out his knife and quickly threw it right towards the man clutching his face, his grip on the young girl lost. The feeling of cold steel buried itself deep in Daario’s right shoulder and he howled a lengthy cry of pain as he watched the knife finding purchase in his flesh. 

Overcome by rage, Daario aimed his gun at his adversary and started unleashing a rain of bullets indiscriminately. He wanted Jon dead, and he wanted that now. To his complete horror, Jon tanked it without a care, only shielding his head with his jacket. 

Jon closed the distance, quickly clasped Daario’s arm before he pulled him back. In the momentum, Jon cocked his head and delivered a crushing headbutt to Daario’s already severed nose, breaking it further before he managed to disarm the man from his gun and kick him under the legs. 

Daario received no quarter when he fell to the ground as Jon’s shoe slammed itself on his wounded shoulder, burying the knife deeper and making him scream loud and clear for the entire floor to hear him. It was of short duration as Jon aimed the gun he scavenged from the ground right at Daario’s head and delivered the final blow by shooting him straight through his brains. 

The ground beneath Daario was drenched in thickly smelling blood, as was his desk, the walls, and the chair. Shame really, the office was quite neatly decorated. 

Placing the gun on Daario’s desk, Jon regarded the blonde girl, kneeling before her and offering, as best as he could, a bit of sympathy. 

“I’m sorry for what you had to go through. No father is allowed to treat his children like-“ 

“He wasn’t my father…” 

“What?”

The girl raised her head and furrowed her eyebrows at Jon, eyes downtrodden. “He wasn’t my father…He…paid me to make me act the part...before he’d force certain people upon me. It was one of his ways…to earn money.” 

Jon ground his teeth. Any sympathies he felt for Daario was thrown out of the window; the bastard deserved the brutal death he got. Using children to protect himself was below any standard of an associate of the Underworld. But this? Child prostitution? If he wasn’t a man who was wont not to waste bullets, Jon would have emptied his entire arsenal of ammunition inside that bag of shit. 

“What’s your name, girl?” 

She frowned at the word 'girl'. “Tyene, and I’m not 'just' a girl. Girls couldn’t have stomached the things I’ve seen.” 

Jon was, to say the least, hard-pressed in not taking her serious, nodding at her. She was right, kids her age wouldn’t have been able to witness what she did just now. The girl now known as Tyene looked like she had an encounter with the Others and came back; her eyes told him a hundred stories. Stories better left untold. 

“Fair enough, I’ll take back my comment.” Jon took a glance around him and noticed the case and the money scattered around it. He approached it and began taking a look. This wasn’t half the money Daario stole from Pycelle. Clicking his tongue, Jon took a seat in the leather chair Daario just half an hour ago enjoyed. Whether he was aware of that little fact or not, it didn’t seem to perturb Jon much right now. 

“If you’re here for the money Daario stole, you have to look behind that painting.” Tyene murmured as she pointed at a rather large canvas hanging at the sidewall.

Jon’s brows furrowed. “How do you know that?” 

Tyene huffed a little and crossed her arms. “Does it matter?” 

Well, it didn’t actually matter that she knew it. The fact of how she knew it was something different. 

Tyene noticed Jon’s pointed eyes and buckled fairly quickly after she got the receiving end of his gaze. “I sometimes eavesdropped on Daario while he…he…took other girls for his pleasures… He likes to boast a lot during his...” She sported a small lock of her jaws as further words turned to ash in her mouth, and Jon noticed this was still a girl who was, what, around the age of fifteen? Perhaps scratching sixteen? Jon wondered if Daario overstepped his borders by defiling other girls her age. It wasn’t his place to question something as sensitive as that though. Putting those thoughts aside, Jon observed the painting, not finding it interesting in any way before he offhandedly threw it off the wall. 

There, in a hollowed part of the wall was a small vault, and before Jon could even determine from which brand it was, Tyene began tinkering with it. In a split moment, she got the vault open expertly, surprising Jon even further; just who was this little rascal? 

“You’re good in these kinds of things?” She shook her head tersely in an act of humility, but her brown eyes did glint like it wanted a little praise. Lifting a hand, Jon patted the blonde on the shoulder after all, and Tyene seemed to appreciate the gesture as she meekly glanced downwards. 

Rows were sorted neatly on top of each other, all of them consisting of five-hundred dragon bills. Two guns and a brown ledger were also filling the vault with their space. Jon took the book in his hand, dusting it off and out of curiosity started flipped through the contents of said tome. 

_ Well, well, Daario, you were quite the busy bee, weren’t you? _

Inside the ledger were noted down all the transactions Daario and his associates carried out and the respective amount of money attached to the job. Some even numbered in the hundred thousand. Daario was really making a name for himself. Or at least tried to. Jon reckoned that he was dreaming to one day have himself on the highest peak in the Underworld, or perhaps the lowest? Metaphors weren’t Jon’s cup of tea. Dany always knew when to say something smart in this situation, not he. 

For good measure, Jon began inspecting the entire room in case he missed out on something. Even Daario’s body, now grown cold, wasn’t left untouched as Jon searched him through unscrupulously for anything worthy of note. The only boon he discovered for his search was a pair of cigarettes and condoms; not the biggest loot in the world, Jon thought with disgust.

Jon threw them onto the ground, finding no use for them, and scratched the grey stubbles littered across the sides of his face pensively. His business here was more or else concluded, and so, Jon pulled out his phone and began dialing a number, one he was overly familiar with and took the black device to his ear. 

“Hello, this is Jon Snow. Yes, the job is done. The building is quite a mess… no, not that kind of mess…I did my utmost, Rakharo, but some things can’t really be avoided and you know that.” Jon peered over his shoulder towards Daario’s mangled body. “He’s been liquidated. The coast is clear. Get the janitors and scrub this place down to the bone.” And with a click, Jon hung up. 

“What now?” Tyene wondered, taking a golden ringlet in her finger and twirling it as Jon’s eyes fell over the room, over Daario’s corpse and finally on Tyene herself. 

Jon wasn’t really sure how to answer, the fair-haired girl sitting down on the ground and playing with the hems of her skirt. Her eyes couldn’t land anywhere inside the room, every inch painted with the blood of the man who made her life hell not too long ago. Jon was more than sure that all of this had to be brutalizing for her. Traumatized and driven into a corner like that, forced into sexual service. Jon never grew into a hearty man, but he wasn’t unscrupulous either. 

“Come here…” He flicked his wrist to the blonde girl, who blinked in surprise, eyes still a little glazed and distant. Tyene nodded wearily and got up before she felt a pair of arms sweep her off the ground. She winced, stiffening in his hold, not sure what would happen to her. “Don’t get squirmy…I’m getting you out and this building is littered with dead bodies. Bury your head inside my coat and don’t look around. It’s not a pretty picture.” 

Tyene couldn’t do much but nod, her small hands fisting Jon’s black nylon turtleneck and burrowing her face inside the nook of his neck, her nose brushing the collar. Jon’s feet took purposeful steps, exiting Daario’s room and stepping into the brightly lit corridor. Tyene’s grip turned to steel as Jon further tightened his grip over the girl. True to his word, bodies decorated the carpet with stains the rich color of scarlet all across the place. The iron smell was pungent and heady, thickly present in the air. Not even Jon’s fresh Arbor Plat cologne dammed the smell of corpses. Jon was able to shield the girl’s eyes, but her nostrils were definitely being invaded by the morbid scent. 

“How did your coat do that…?” 

“Do what?” 

“Take those bullets…” 

“Oh. That. Well, the coat is made of special material. An intricate mixture of elements, like graphene, through the linings and fabric…” 

“Graphene…? Tyene tried letting it roll off her tongue, but tripped several times. Ah yes, Jon momentarily forgot he was talking to a young girl that barely finished high school. 

“An allotrope..." That was probably also a term unfamiliar to her, Jon realized on second thought. "...to put it simply, no knife or bullet can get through this piece of cloth. Though…” A memory slipped by, a painful one if he trusted his mind, of years ago when Jon just started in this business and the first time he tried out his specially designed clothes. “...quite painful to endure. It’s not like I don’t feel the impact of them.” To illustrate his point, Jon rubbed a hand over a spot he was convinced would be a bruise later. Daario unloaded his mad fury upon him earlier, and no sane person could take three bullets straight to the chest and come unscathed one way or another. 

Their trek through the building came to a stop as Jon’s meandering through corridors finally led them to an emergency exit after rounding a couple of corners. Pushing the door, Jon’s face was enveloped by the harsh winds of winter, grazing his cheeks with its sharp-nailed fingers. He flexed his cheeks and rubbed them against the side of his collar, fighting off the biting cold. Despite the freezing temperatures, Jon never actually minded winter. Summers were always too scalding for his liking, springs too distracting and autumns too rainy. The cold was a pain for many, but for Jon, it kept him keen and sharp-eyed. He always worked in peak-performance during the months of winter. 

A white van was tugged away in the shadows, two men clothed in dark green janitor jumpsuits in the process of stepping out and carrying all variants of plastic bags over their shoulders. Jon’s feet brought him in front of the driver’s seat, the window slowly rolling down as another occupant of the van, a fair-haired woman with blue eyes, this one sharply dressed in contrast to the others, came to view. 

“Mr. Snow, the men are almost done preparing for the clean-up. Anything we can further be of assistance with?” 

Jon nodded, placing Tyene on the ground. “Get this girl to a shelter, Doreah. Give her enough means to last a week. The Interstate will pick her up and take care of her after.” The driver scribbled the instructions on a piece of paper and nodded. 

“Very well, sir. Please, if the miss would be amicable enough to step inside.” Tyene tensed, breath hitched in her throat, and glanced up meeting Jon’s dark eyes. 

“Y-you’re going to leave me…?” A little bit of panic tinted her voice, her thin fingers threading in Jon’s black sweater. Jon softened a little, something he always did when youngsters were involved. 

Jon went to her and locked eyes. “I am. Don’t worry, though, these men will not lay a finger on you or allow someone else to. You’re save with them, like you were with me. I promise you.” Jon tried to assure. She didn't buy his explanation, and so, Jon added. "You just have to trust me on my word. What else could you do?" 

As harsh as it sounded, it was the truth. Maybe the girl needed a gentler hand, probably she did, but Jon didn't know how to act soft and caring. It just wasn't in his nature. 

The girl eventually nodded timidly and stepped into the van. It drove off, and Jon was left standing behind, giving some instructions to the 'janitors'. Another van would soon arrive, replacing the former. 

Jon would take a lift with that one to his hotel. 

With the job done, he'd fly back to Oldtown tomorrow. 

And rave at Dany how this circus all came crashing down. 

He was expecting a big reward for his troubles. 

After all, Jon just put fifteen bodies in the ground. 

He expects at least one grand per body for his troubles. 

* * *

_AC 2010..._

_January 15th..._

_The Reach..._

_Oldtown City..._

_... _

The flight back to Oldtown took longer than necessary -which prolonged his jet-lag- the city proper was teeming with traffic, _on a damn Wednesday afternoon, _the bruises across his chest throbbed more painfully than Samwell had estimated, but most of all, the cabby he was currently sitting in smelled of goddamn cigarettes, sex, and wet dog. It also didn't help that the leather of the seats stuck to his palm or that the door was about to fall off its hinges, creaking obnoxiously each time it was moved. The appeal of hiring his own private chauffeur, as Dany advised him a hundred times, finally started to get through his skull. 

Jon was annoyed. 

No, scratch that, he was having itches all over his body. 

Jon prided himself for being a rather patient man, but today, nothing worked for his benefit. 

To make matters worse, when he arrived at the Interstate, after two hours of suffering stuck traffic and eventually dumping the seedy cabby and opting to walk instead, Jon inquired after Dany's presence when he arrived with fried nerves and his body worse for wear, only to be informed by her personal assistant that the lady of the building had just left twenty minutes ago. Jon almost broke the pretty little bonsai tree perched on her desk. 

_ Damn the woman...! I Told her to sit tight and wait until I got back! If this is her trying to slip passed my fingers, she has another thing coming... _

He couldn't unleash his frustrations on the Naathi woman though, Missandei, Jon remembered her name was, and so, he reined his vexation in before he asked after Dany's whereabouts. 

"Lady Daenerys left a note in case you would be indeed delayed. She headed off towards her private residence on the GC Tower in downtown King's Landing." The tanned woman smiled politely, placing a keycard on the desk, shoving it Jon's way before she continued. "It's not a long drive; Lady Daenerys even left a car in the parking lot for you." Her fingers went through her desk again and ultimately found what she was looking for; a set of keys. 

Reaching over the desk, Missandei handed the keys to Jon, sat back down and resumed her work. 

"Thank you, Missandei." Jon nodded. Missandei parted with a brief smile and then went back to her work.

Jon made for the elevator, observing the keycard Dany's assistant gave him while he waited. It was black tinted with an elongated tower carved into it, the letters G and C carved at either of its sides. The contraption dinged, the doors sliding open and Jon entered, still examining the card. 

The Golden Company Tower was Targaryen real estate, worth quite a few million in dragons. Like the most prominent spike of a crown, GC Tower protruded between the skyscrapers, the tallest and most valuable building in all of King's Landing. 

It was both a symbol of ancient Targaryen power, back when the Seven Kingdoms were ruled by a silver-haired monarch with indigo eyes, and contemporary Targaryen power, for though they may have lost their kingship, the Targaryens still lived on as the owners of the largest business conglomerate in Westeros. 

It was Dany's perfect business card. 

The elevator bounced to a stop, the dull-grey doors silently opening to reveal a mostly deserted parking lot. Jon went about the dead place and clicked the car's remote control, trying to pinpoint the vehicle. His attention was tucked to the far corner, where a car's head- and backlights flickered brightly. Upon seeing the car, Jon couldn't help the low whistle. 

It was a beauty, alright, a matte-black colored sports car with red linings across the rims of the wheels, dark tinted windows, gilded handles and the figure of a three-headed red dragon at the tip of the car's bonnet. The car bled Targaryen blood. 

Getting himself seated, Jon admired the inside, noting that it was just as luxurious as the outside, with lizard leather seats, giving off that scent every car fresh of the assembly line is associated with it. As Jon clasped the wheel and glided his palms across its smooth skin, he snorted to himself as the letters J and T were engraved into the horn. A note stuck out above him, jutting out from the sunshade mirror. Taking it out, Jon meticulously folded it open, reading the neat script of his aunt. 

_ If you ever get stuck again in traffic, at least you got to do it inside a 4.5 million dragon car. Don't get it wrecked, love. Or riddled with bullet holes. I won't give you a new one on your birthday. _

Inserting the key and igniting the engine, Jon's car roared to life, the vibrations going through his body pleasantly. For a moment, Jon wondered if the car was so expensive, he could feed half of Sothoryos if he sold it for its nominal price. 

Driving out of the parking lot, Jon settled on his destination and made for GC Tower, intent on asking Dany herself. 

Amongst other things. 

* * *

"Good evening, Mr. Snow. May I say that you look splendid in your attire. I must admit, I've always liked the coloring the most." The smell of perfume, not cologne, _ perfume,_ wafted through the air, tickling Jon's nostrils as he entered the lobby. 

Varys greeted him the moment he planted the sole of his shoe on the floor of GC Tower, emerging from some hole in the wall Jon must've missed. He was sure the brightly lit room filled with crystal lusters, walls thick with large scarlet drapes hanging from the sides and all sorts of high-priced souvenirs decorating the place were just distractions placed by Varys so he could keep jumping on visitors, doing his nickname justice. 

Jon could discern sarcasm when it was thrown in his face, and he took in Varys wearily, smiling tight-lipped at the man. "Thank you, Varys." 

His taste in clothing, while impeccable and of the priciest brand, was a little on the dark side. Yet, he couldn't really say he cared all that much. Black was practical and utilitarian; Jon didn't need to consider a whole lot what fitted with what. Varys though, he wore the most egregious garbs known to men. And the smell of perfume lingering around his body was stronger than any other scent he had ever smelled. Varys really embodied the term 'effeminate'. 

Varys continued to drink him in, beady eyes taking in every twitch of a muscle. He bowed a little as Jon came to stand before him. "I'm sure you're eager to see your aunt, correct? One of my little birds told me what happened on the job; a slight turn of events. Quite unfortunate." 

"Indeed." Jon murmured under his breath. 

This penthouse was a maze, a luxurious twist of halls, rooms and lobbies, each one of them filled to the brim with the most expansive furniture and decoration money could buy. It took quite some time for the two finally arrive at her private chambers. 

"I'll have you know that Lady Daenerys is currently entertaining a visitor, Mr. Snow." 

This took him by surprise. "At this hour?" 

Varys chuckled uneasily. "Yes, well, he has proven to be a rather persistent man. I've tried numerous times to make him realize that this is not an appropriate moment to bother Lady Daenerys, but he simply didn't want to budge." 

Just then, they arrived at the door and Jon could hear a couple of voices speak rather loudly through the woodwork; Dany's lilt, smooth as honey, sounded nettled while the other person, a man with a guttural timbre, tried to reason with her. Varys took a right and left Jon behind, excusing himself, stating that he had other things that required his attention. 

Jon opened the door, and upon entering, could _feel _the sharpness of Dany's voice as she talked. They were in an adjusting room, while Jon still lingered around her lobby. 

"For the last time, Jorah, I don't_ want _you anywhere near me. I'd sooner prefer to have cockroaches crawling up my back than having you here. You failed me for the last time, and I don't do third chances. Get out of my of sight, or I'll have you removed." The hiss came as loud and clear as the crack of a whip. Dany's anger was whistling like a kettle about to boil over, but Jon held back, preferring to lean against the wall and listening in on this. A hand was already resting against his gun, just in case. 

His aunt was positively incensed, nothing like the put-together lady she always strutted around as. He wondered what invoked her wrath. 

"Khaleesi, please..." 

"For Baelor's sake, Jorah! Not another word! Not only did you _fuck up _the job and allowed the Baratheon kid to live, I also come to discover you've been double-crossing me for the Baratheons all this time! Now I understand why Lynesse left your treacherous face for Tregor Ormollen! I wonder how many people you've fucked over in your life!" 

Ah, betrayal. Jon frowned, crossing his arms. The sting of betrayal is like no other. Once, he was betrayed by an associate and it nearly had cost his life. He didn't know Jorah for long, but from what he had gathered during his short stay here, Jon learned that Jorah was practically devoted to Dany, following her heels like a lost puppy. So this betrayal came as quite a surprise. 

It was...rather disturbing to witness. Jorah was twice her age, but looked at Dany like a man would regard a woman he desired. A relationship couldn't have been as one-sided as Dany and Jorah's. He looked at her with worship. She spared him looks of pure pity and thinly veiled revulsion. 

And gods, it didn't help Jorah's case that he smelled like the furs of a wet animal. 

"Please, Dany, let me explain, I had no cho-" 

"Don't you _dare _call me Dany..." She spat vitriolically. Even Jon almost reeled back from the amount of venom. There was no hurt, just pure disgust. Jon heard some shuffling and heels tapping against the white marble floor. "Don't you ever dare call me Dany again." 

"Or what? What will you do?" It didn't sound threatening, per se, but the hairs on Jon's nape bristled at the question nonetheless. "I don't want to hurt you, khaleesi, but if roughhousing is the only way for you to see the truth, I will do-" 

"Alright, enough of this, Mr. Mormont." Jon said, stepping out of his hiding place. Dany looked visibly relieved at seeing him, standing there with her silver stiletto heels against her ebony desk. She wasn't making it easy for Jorah. Jon understood his fixation; Dany cut a beautiful figure in her purple strapless cocktail dress, surrounded by the limelight. Like a starlet. Who wouldn't start mumbling like a fool in the presence of a gorgeously petite woman rocking eight-inch heels and a dress that reminded mankind why women were considered sensual creatures. 

He gave his lady a nod and settled his attention back on Jorah. "She wants you out of her house. Don't cause a scene and please get out." 

Jorah Mormont was twice Jon's size, large as a bear and just as intimidating with all his swarthy chest hair sticking out of his buttoned collar. Pinching together his rugged face, Jorah eyed Jon up and down. The giant surely thought nothing of him. 

"Get lost, son, this is none of your business." 

"That's where you're incorrect, sir. Dany is my aunt, and I'm not going to leave her here alone with someone like you." 

Jorah scoffed merely and dismissed him with a hand. Jon felt his agitation growing. 

"Mr. Mormont, _again_, please see yourself out, Dany made herself clear when she told you to leave." 

It was Jorah's turn to look cross, stepping up to tower over Jon's form. With contempt, Jorah looked down at him; Jon had to slightly lift his chin if he wanted to lock eyes. "I heard her the first time, but I have no intention of leaving this business unfinished. Now..." Jorah went to hold Jon's arm, grabbing it painfully tight as he leaned in, his unsavory breath washing over Jon; the urge to cringe was resisted by the skin of his teeth. "...get the hell out before I break your arm like a twi-" 

Jon was a man of principles. He never made the first move; it was his modus operandi to first give his opponent the time to explain before it came to blows. Jorah was crass enough to speak to him like that, but when he came for him like that, all bets were off. 

Jon was good in retaliating because it gave him a slight moment to observe. As far as he could tell from Jorah, he was pure brawn; probably did some wrestling and boxing. With his stature, he could easily knock Jon out. 

If he could get the jump on him, and nobody ever got the jump on him. 

Quick as a snake, Jon wrestled his arm out of Jorah's grasp, yanked him forward and slammed his elbow against his chin, smashing his jaws together. He grunted as he reached for his face, but Jon wasn't done and kicked him underneath one of his legs, forcing Jorah on one knee as he lost his balance. As a finisher, Jon followed up with a bone-cracking blow to his mouth with his elbow, knocking out a couple of teeth. 

Before the seething giant could answer with a blow of his own, Jon pressed the barrel of his gun against the side of Jorah's head, feeling him go rigid against the cold steel of his weapon. "I gave you an option, and you spat in my face. Don't expect an ounce of leniency now." Jon regarded his aunt over his shoulder. "What do you want me to do with him, Dany?" 

Said woman had decided to settle herself against her desk, arms resting underneath her breasts. She was weighing down options, those shrewd eyes of hers working overtime. 

Rubbing the bridge of her nose, Dany pushed herself off the table. "He's still useful to us. Let him live." Jorah slacked his shoulders as he heaved out, undoubtedly comforted by Dany's mercy. She surprised them both. "Quaithe will coax out of him what he knows; he's a strong man, he can take a little punishment. Knock him out, love." 

"Wait! Khaleesi, I-" 

Jorah never finished his sentence, the blow prevented him from doing so. Dany buzzed in some of her employees, telling them to clean the mess Jorah had made. 

"Are you alright, Dany?" Jon asked her, rubbing her shoulder as she sat down in her leather chair. 

Her dainty shoulders shrugged, feigning disinterest. "I never cared much for Jorah, he was only ever a means to an end. This little occurrence is a minor setback, however." 

In truth, they had yet to examine the damage of Jorah's duplicity. Surely it wasn't good. 

Jon nodded, looking on as the last of her men had exited while they dragged Jorah's limp form away. Now that that was sorted out, it was Jon's turn to air his grievances. 

"Dany, about the job you sent me on." 

Clicking her tongue, Dany stood up from her chair, annoyed. "You'll have to wait for that talk, Jon. Right now, I'm tired and in need of a good sleep." 

That wouldn't do, Jon grimaced. Catching her, Jon wrapped his hand with care around Dany's arm, feeling her soft skin beneath his finger pads. She was as smooth as silk, he wondered idly. 

"I don't think so, Dany. Daario paid his dues, and now, I believe it's your turn to pay my dues." 

Laughing, Dany shrugged off his hold. "Whatever do you mean, Jon? Your dues? They've already been paid." 

"I don't think you understand; you failed to inform me about quite a bit. Daario was better guarded than expected. I had to put fifteen men down. And for what? A minor drug lord with a finger in child prostitution and human trafficking. Not to mention the girl he had with him. The least you can do is pay me a grand per body." 

"Jon...I told you, we'll discuss this another time." Dany whispered, pinning him with her intense violet eyes. 

Was she trying to intimidate him? With all due respect, Jon doubted Dany could inspire fear in him. While a force to be reckoned with, Jon had seen far more frightening things than a beautiful woman in high heels glaring at him. 

Contrary to what Dany believed, Jon didn't do her bidding without question. Most of the time, he allowed her to get away with a lot of things, but this time, Jon felt he was owed quite a reward for his troubles. Fifteen people, all of them hardened criminals, now keeping the worms company. And Jon didn't come out of that with just some bruises. They were ugly, large, purple and quite painful bruises, pulsing each time he took a breath. 

Turning her around, Jon pressed Dany against him, startling her as she fisted the fabric of his black collar shirt. "Listen here, Dany, I'll make one thing _very _clear." Jon caught her staring at his lips as he talked. A surge of electricity ran down his spine. It intrigued him very much why she glanced at his lips, but he pushed that aside for now.

One hand slowly glided up her back, pulling her closer and feeling the white expanse of her skin underneath his touch, feeling bones beneath flesh roll and stiffen at his finger-tips. The other settled on the sequins of her hip dressed in purple silk, a lovely soft swell that filled the palm of his hand perfectly. Dany's body was heavenly soft and luscious. 

Eyes boring down on Dany, Jon chose his next words with care. "This arrangement between us two suits me just fine; you give me a task, I carry it out. Now, the more complicated a task gets, the more I expect to be compensated. I hope you understand, because these..." Leaving her hip, Jon laced his hands with one of Dany's, the small limb fitting perfectly with his. He guided her hand to one of his bruises and pressed lightly, grunting at the ache. "...were thanks to finding myself in a very complicated situation. 

Dany opened her mouth, but no words came out, instead closing again as her teeth caught her lips. She gently rubbed the place, her tongue coming up to moisten the volume of her lips. Jon stifled a groan at the feeling, part in pain and another in pleasure. Her hands felt liberating, a balm to his pain. 

Jon caught her eyes again. "Are we in agreement? Will you give me what I'm due? I'm not asking for much..." 

"Oh yes..." Batting her eyelashes, Dany, of her own volition, closed the gap between them even further, fully pressing herself against his body, lips mere inches apart, her fresh breath ghosting over his mouth hotly. "...I understand fully, love. Let me properly compensate you for your troubles then." 

Mischief flickered across those violet eyes of hers, her smile matching it. A spark snapped into existence, colored with a playfulness that reminded Jon of a cat that ate the canary. 

Soon, that playfulness bled into her face as Dany smirked up at him, slotting herself entirely over his body. She caught Jon's mouth in a kiss, to his shock, lips locked seamlessly together. She tasted like Dornish wine, sweet with a hint of something tangy lying underneath the softness of her tongue, searing and heady and _gods, _a taste so good it could have been a hard drug. 

Dany deepened the kiss as they kept meshing their lips together, a needy moan escaping the both of them. She was taking the lead quite assertively, lacing her tongue with his and letting him get an even stronger taste of her mouth. Jon found he rather enjoyed it. Very much so. 

Dany's hand began to wander south, going down, down, _down_, until it settled above his crotch. 

"What are you doing?" Jon asked, startled, ripping his mouth off of her, catching Dany's hand and fitting their fingers together. 

Her smirk widened. "What do you think? Paying my dues." 

"Not like this, Dany..." He protested weakly. 

She rolled her eyes. "Jon, you think I don't recognize sexual tension when I sense it?" She began pulling on Jon's hand and led him deeper into the penthouse. They practically stumbled towards her bedroom, with Dany running on her heels and dragging Jon along. 

When they entered the room, Dany guided him into a loveseat, dropping herself on his lap and throwing her arms around his neck, capturing his lips again hungrily. Her crotch was rubbing against his clothed manhood, the friction making him hiss against Dany's lips, his mind going blank. 

Out of instinct, the weight of his hands came to rest at Dany's side, rubbing her amiable flesh up and down, lost in this heat that was starting to overwhelm him. 

Their noses bumped now and then, teeth clashing like shields and tongues crossing like swords. Dany was fighting him in the most intimate way.

Eventually, Jon tore his lips away, again, much to her chagrin as she glared down at him. His breath coming out haggard, Jon glanced into his lovely aunt's eyes. "Dany, we shouldn't..." 

"Why not?" She whispered into his ear, her fingers hooking into his curls and yanking at them softly. Jon shuddered at her ministrations, his cock twitching each time Dany pressed a kiss to the pulse of his neck, nibbled at his ear and then followed up with a swift lick of her tongue over the sensitive flesh. His body began to turn boneless, hands again finding home on her narrow hips again, gliding up and down her naked thighs, relishing in the soft silky feeling of her sinful flesh. Still, her covered mound was rolling over his cock. Dany had increased her rocking and now squirmed wantonly in his lap. 

Despite drowning in pleasure, Jon had his wits about him, putting a small bit of resistance. "It's frowned upon...we're aunt and nephew, Dany." 

Dany threw back her head in laughter. "That's what got you so worried, darling? That we're blood-related? Who gives a _fuck _if we're bound by blood?" 

Oh, now that got his blood really pumping. 

Her small hands, so soft and velvety, came to rest on his shoulders, kneading the knotted tendons, while he still refused to lift his hands from her warm and supple thighs, caressing them slow and dedicatedly. 

She grinned down at him, a predatory glint in her eyes as she bared her teeth; her eyes blazed like violet flames. For a moment, Jon imagined a dragon sitting atop his lap. 

"You and I have committed sins far more deserving of scrutiny, my dear. We're _Targaryens__, _Jaehaerys. In the past, our ancestors married sisters to brothers and bred a dynasty that ruled for hundreds of years over Westeros. Besides..." Her breasts were pressing against his chest when she came to lean into him, soft and plush and warm. Jon could feel her heartbeat throb against his own, a wild staccato reaching the drums of his ears. "...I've always had a secret incest kink. The moment you first walked into the Interstate, I found my loins _enflame _with desire." 

Gods above... 

Jon pressed his jaws together, his fingers unconsciously digging deeper into Dany's flesh, thumbs caressing her hipbones languidly, making her moan in ecstasy. This woman was doing things to his body and mind. Sinfully delicious things. 

"Is that so, Dany?" He rasped. One hand had found purchase against the swell of her backside, cupping and caressing it fondly. Dany continued to moan against him, nodding, loving the feel as her beautiful violet, now indigo, eyes squinted on him, pupils dark with lust. "Tell me, does this feel good to you?" Continuing to fondle her arse, Jon watched his lovely aunt unravel before him, grinding and moaning into his ear like a cheap harlot from Flea Bottom. 

"Gods, it feels so _fucking_ good ..." Her teeth sank into his neck and Dany began to _suckle_, leaving a red mark before she allowed the slope of her tongue to swim over it. When she came back to meet his grey eyes, Jon thought this was what the eyes of a pureblooded temptress looked like. 

That nearly unmanned him. 

She was right. They shouldn't care about taboos. 

Tonight was a night to let loose. 

Throwing reason and caution out of the window, Jon decided to feast on the splendor that was Daenerys Targaryen, 

Wrapping an arm around her waist, Jon lifted her up like she weighed nothing and carried her towards the bed. Placing her on the edge, Jon began to throw off his jacket and started loosening his tie. 

Dany shot up from her bed and came to unbutton it as Jon worked through his tie. 

"I have half a mind to just rip this damn shirt apart. That's how eager I am to feel your skin beneath mine." She grumbled, fumbling with the buttons. 

"Please don't, it's one of my favorites." Jon smiled softly. 

Ignoring his plea, Dany began to pull at the seams, earning herself an outraged cry. "Oh, shut up, will you? I'll get you twenty of these shirts tomorrow. Right now..." Buttons flew in all directions as Dany tore off his shirt. "...I want to roam my hands all over you." 

She got her wish, throwing aside the ruined shirt, much to Jon's disappointed as he pouted. With a giggle, Dany kissed him full on the lips, erasing his pout away, Jon eagerly returning the slow rub of her tongue against his. 

She turned around, presenting her clothed back to him. "Undo the zip and get me out of this dress." 

"With pleasure." Jon groaned, fingers already at the little zipper, intent on removing the purple dress so he could feast upon Dany's beauty. "Why the dress, actually? Did you come back from some gala?" 

"Don't start...it was a total bore and I nearly shot a fool for touching my arse. All I want to do now is unwind tonight." 

The sound of Dany's dress opening before his eyes filled him with anticipation, his cock twitching to life at what was to come tonight. His lovely aunt shimmied out of her dress, the piece of clothe pooling on the ground. The contours of her hips and arse were accentuated by the low light above. Gods, she was a vision, all soft curves and milky-white skin, glowing like a pretty porcelain figurine. Jon immediately pressed his naked torso against Dany's back, both of them hissing in pleasure at the feel of hot skin against skin. 

The ache across his chest prickled Jon's mind, but he didn't care. The pain was nothing in comparison to the mounting pleasure of having his cock pressed against Dany's covered arse, grinding against her while his hands went and started groping her breasts, tweaking her rosy nipples between his fingers. The silky feel of her thong did amazing things to his cock.

Dany's arm was around his neck, taking a fist full of his curls, enjoying his caresses as she let out a filthy moan. "Oh yes, that's it, tug at those nipples..." 

Jon was trailblazing open-mouth kisses over the white column of Dany's svelte neck, grazing with his teeth over the flesh, making them wet with his saliva. She, in turn, kept grinding her backside against his clothed cock, arching her back further into Jon while needy mewls escaped her lips. 

"Gods, I want to be inside you, Dany. I want to worship your body all throughout the night so badly." 

Jon felt her shiver in his arms, seeking out his pelvis with her arse more. "Hmmm, I can only imagine how bad. Not yet, though, darling, I want to do something before that." 

She pushed him away with her arse, turning around with her lips tugged into a smile full of sin; Jon's blood roared between his ears at how excited he got seeing that promising smile. 

"Come sit down at the edge of the bed." She said, no, _purred_, gesturing with a manicured finger to come closer. Jon did as he was asked, leaning into Dany, but she evaded him and deftly spun them around. His knees hit the bed as Dany pushed him against it. "Let's take care of this." Her fingers crawled over his thighs as she came to kneel in front of him, the smile never leaving her lips as she looked through eyelashes at him. Oh gods, was she intending to... 

In a matter of seconds, Jon got rid of his dress pants, kicking them aside. Dany was instantly palming him through his boxers. 

"Oh my, you feel so...big." She hummed, giving a squeeze in approval. 

"Don't tease, Dany." Jon growled, looking on with crossed eyes as Dany's smile widened, fingers delightfully wrapped over the skin of his cock. She only clutched his cock and rubbed it a little. How would it feel if she actually enclosed those cushiony lips of hers around his girth? The mere thought nearly made him spill. It really had been too long since he had a woman. 

"I don't intend to. Now, let's get dirty and remove this last piece of annoying clothe." She smiled suggestively. Jon prided himself for his spine of steel, but the grin Dany gave him made the blood inside his veins roar and steam, a geyser going strong, melting his resolve. 

The moment she helped pulling down his boxers, his cock bounced free, half-mast and slowly getting ready for what was to come. Dany grinned toothily, like a girl during Christmas. 

"You don't only feel big, you _are _big." Spitting into her palm, Dany took his member in her hand, moistening it nicely as she stroked him up and down. 

Jon clenched his jaws, nerves fried with pleasure. He refused to close his eyes, a battle in itself, and watched how his lovely aunt, clad in nothing but a black thong, jerked him off languorously, her chest flushed with redness. The skin of her palm was silky soft and smooth as paste. Grunts wheezed out of his mouth more and more as she kept her heavenly pace. 

And then Dany pressed a kiss atop his glans. And another. And another, this time across his length, fingers still wrapped nicely around his manhood. 

His own fingers were going through her silver-gold tresses, massaging her scalp. "Gods, I've never seen a woman as beautiful as you, Dany." 

Smirking, she met his eyes straight on. "You think I haven't heard that line before?" 

"I'm sure you have..." Jon's fingers glided over her cheekbone lovingly. "...I'm different, though." 

Dany planted small kisses against his thigh. "Oh? In what way?" 

Jon bent over, both hands cradling Dany's face with the utmost care, like she was made of glass. "I'm going to show you every minute tonight_ exactly _how beautiful I find you." He dove in for a kiss, claiming her plush lips for a long time, sucking and licking their volume with an intensity that even surprised him. Dany moaned into his mouth, a sound spilling over her lips that would scandalize even prostitutes. Her hand was still wound tight around his cock, all five fingers jerking him off expertly, as though made to give him a handjob. 

Their kiss was messy and sloppy, and by the end of it, Jon and Dany parted their lips while a trail of saliva connected their lips briefly. Jon was getting drunk on her taste, for Dany tasted like the most sinful beverage in the world. 

"Will you swallow this cock now, dear aunt?" Grinning, Dany nodded eagerly, placed those pink lips of hers against his glans, tongue licking at the slit. 

And then proceeded to swallow him down. 

Inch by inch. 

Jon saw stars the moment Dany enveloped his cock into her wet and searing mouth. 

She started slowly, tentatively, trying to get used to his length and taste. 

Her mouth left his cock, the loss making him groan. "You have a funny scent, nephew." She giggled between licks. "Heady, musky, and may I say, quite _addictive_. I'm getting wet just smelling your thick and manly shaft." 

Jon kept his patience, one hand going through her locks while the other was fisting the sheets. He would not force her head down. No woman, unless she said so explicitly, liked it to have her head shoved down and take a cock into her throat forcefully. 

Dany continued worshipping his cock, sucking on it like it was her favored brand of lollipops, lewd slurps echoing through the room, going down on him like a ravenous animal. By now, Jon was reduced to a grunting mess, jaws clenching tight as to not allow any sound that may or may not destroy his reputation as the most notorious hitman in the Westerosi Underworld. 

"Yes, just like that, sweet Dany, oh gods..." He had to admit, his aunt could suck a mean cock, his fingers wrapping around the silk of her hair and combing it while enjoying the best kind of oral sex in his life. 

Incestuous oral sex. 

Bopping her head up and down, Dany looked like she was on a personal mission, and that involved blowing his cock as reverently as she got. She alternated between long licks and painfully hard sucks, hollowing her cheeks before she would yet again take his entire length down her throat, coating the head with her saliva as she licked the glans and then the slit. Widening his eyes, Jon realized too late that Dany was currently deepthroating him, feeling his girth touching the wet softness of her throat. Gods, her clever mouth felt positively divine. 

After a particularly good suck, Jon bucked his hips up without his consent, driving himself deeper into Dany's pliant mouth. He heard her gag, and that slightly caused him to sit up. 

"Taking more than you can handle?" 

Her mouth left his cock with a pop, the cool air grazing it and making him groan at the loss again. 

"You're gonna pay for that little stunt, darling." Dany smirked, her nimble hand replacing her hot mouth. While meant as a reproach, she sounded playful. Jon decided to indulge her. 

"Anything you want, Dany, just get that mouth of yours back on my cock." 

"Is that an order, Jon?" 

Jon caught her challenging stare and narrowed his eyes. "No, that was a request, but I can _make _it an order." 

"Oh, there's a bad boy." She winked, blowing him a kiss. "I'll cut you some slack since you're hurt." Kissing his cock again, Dany stared him right into his eyes as she smiled wickedly. "Fuck my throat, Jon. I wanna be sore tomorrow." 

She went back to sucking his cock, relaxing her throat muscles and this time tripling her effort. Gone were slow licks and hard sucks. Dany was sucking like her life depended on it. A hand came to help her, coming to latch around the base of his shaft, pumping up and down across the wet skin that didn't pierce her mouth. Jon also clasped the back of her head and rocked into her mouth in tandem with her own bopping. She was taking him so deeply, he was sure Dany would gag any minute now. She didn't, though, dutifully taking his cock like a good and pliant girl.

Jon could feel the hot coil inside his stomach grow hotter and hotter, a rock that was about to burn a hole through his stomach. 

"Dany, I'm about...I'm about to cum...can I spill inside your mouth?" The moment Dany nodded, Jon wasted no time and clasped the back of her head harder, pushing himself into her throat. 

With a prolonged groan, Jon felt himself spurt four thick ropes of his seed into her waiting mouth, flooding it with white viscous cum. 

Panting, Jon looked around for a towel after coming down from his high, but found none around. Then, he heard a loud sound of swallowing and cracked his head back to Dany. Her lips were shining with a bit of his seed, but the rest, she apparently drank down. Without batting an eye. 

Smiling, she climbed on top of him, already rid of her thong as she threw it off to the side. "Now, Jon, let's get to the real fun, shall we?" 

Pushing him down the mattress, Dany straddled him with the expertise of a professional horse-rider, her thighs bracketing his torso. As if hard-wired to do so, Jon brought his hands up and came to take into his palms Dany's arse cheeks, squeezing them with appreciation. Dany squealed a little at the insistent way of his hand palming her arse. 

His aunt's body was a blessing, putting top-models like Margaery Tyrell and Arianne Martell to shame. Not to mention her sexual confidence; she looked like a right proper succubus fresh out of the most sinful pits of the Seven Hells with her mussed hair, perky breasts with nipples at attention, lips plush from kissing and tucked into a little smile that promised only good things. 

Rubbing her womanhood over his cock, Dany spared him a salacious grin, fingers dancing over the curls of his chest. "Have you ever had a woman on top, love?" 

Nodding, Jon continued his path of caressing every nook his fingers could find, now roaming a path across Dany's back. His cock was pressing against the split of her arse, waiting impatiently to be wrapped around her weeping slit; a certain heat was starting to come off and claim his cock in a hot and wet coat. Jon could only guess what it was. 

The grin lessened into a smirk. "Did they ride you like the proper stallion you are?" 

"No, they always came too fast; even though on top, I had to take the lead." 

"Such a shame..." Puckering her lips into a sultry smile, Jon could see how she reached behind her, eyes glinting with that mischief from earlier. The moment the velvet skin of her palms wrapped around his cock, Jon let out a strangled hiss, prompting Dany to show a naughty grin again. "Brace yourself, Jon..." Aligning her entrance, Dany came down on his cock slowly, not giving him time to prepare. "...I'll show you how a real woman rides a man." 

And then, she impaled herself fully with its length. 

Jon let out a prolonged groan. 

Dany's upper lips caught him seeing stars the moment they enclosed around his manhood, but nothing could have ever prepared him for _this. _

Her lower lips took him in effortlessly, Jon's cock sliding inside Dany's cunt with the ease of a sword finding the perfect sheath, her hot walls lovingly snug. 

They both were victims of a dry spell, so it seemed, because both Dany and Jon groaned in concert, Dany hurling back her golden mane of white hair while Jon slammed his jaws together. He wasn't entirely sure, but Jon could've sworn that he felt Dany constrict around his girth, just a little, a small amount of warm fluid dripping out of her and coating his cock with warmth. Admittedly, a small amount of seed did spurt out of him the moment he was fully seated inside her, but he would never say that out loud. 

Coming down from their momentary high, Dany began to roll her hips, her cunt constricting around his cock with each shift. Smiling, Dany began to bounce on top of him. "Gods...your cock is fucking amazing, nephew..." Her efforts started to build up, each bounce coming with more power. 

Jon felt his hips buck upwards, meeting Dany's, and his beautiful aunt was caught by surprise, her mouth opening as an audible gasp fell over her red lips. 

"That's it! Keep goi-_Oh! _Pound into me lik-_Ah!__-_that! Don't stop-_Ungh__! Don't. Stop!_" Whining, Dany began to increase her efforts, hips rolling and bouncing against his pelvis powerfully, seeking her pleasure with selfish abandon. 

The room began to serve as a sound box; across the walls, loud and wets slaps bounced off, all thanks to Jon's pelvis meeting Dany's arse with vigor; Jon was going to town on her, and she was taking it like a champ. 

Hands braced against her hips, Jon pounded into Dany with building vigor, ramming into her more and more. His aunt was clamping down on him almost viciously, her cunt painfully tight, sounding unhinged by the minute. Gods, they were absolutely lost in this tryst. 

Dany began to sing to him a whole litany of dirty endearments, each word filthier than the previous, accompanied by meaty slaps as they kept fucking. 

"See? It's not so-_Oh!-_bad! Fuck! If anything, it's-_Ah!_-a hundred times hotter that we're indulging in incest! _Oh fuck...!_" 

Jon couldn't agree more, grunting and nodding, feeling himself drowning in pleasure as he kept bucking his hips into Dany. He had to admit, Jon expected her to be foul-mouthed, and so, made sure he was giving his all during their fuck session; he was pleasantly rewarded with the dirty tongue of his aunt. 

Copious amounts of sweat started pouring out of their flushed bodies, soaking the bed and giving them a beautiful sheen in the limelight as they continued fucking each other's minds out. Dany's hands were now on her breasts, tweaking the nipples harshly, moaning at him how well she was being fucked. 

Each time Dany came down on him, Jon slammed in tandem into her, furor matching and fighting a battle for the upper hand. Reaching deeper and deeper inside Dany's cunt, Jon was honest to admit that he was slowly losing his rationale; while never prone to wild tendencies, the quintessential gentleman and lady, Jon and Dany now indulged in nothing short but animalistic sex. 

Feeling himself welling up again, Jon leaned forward and swatted Dany's hand away, claiming her breasts as his spoils; his teeth came to circle around one nipple while his hand plucked at the other, rolling his finger around the sensitive bud. If he was about to fall over the edge again, Jon was determined to drag down Dany with him. 

She mewled and whined, fingers twined inside his hair and roughly pulling at his ringlets as he suckled on his aunt's breasts. His tongue circled around the nubs like his fingers were, flicking, sucking and grazing them. 

He was almost there, close enough to fall into the precipice. 

Jon wasn't done yet, though. 

Letting go of her breast, Jon snaked an arm around Dany and stood up, his cock never exiting the walls of her cunt. Squealing, she threw her arms around him, surprised, her silver heels still hanging on her feet, legs coming to cross over the small of his back. 

Her face was mere inches away from his. "What are you doing?" 

Languidly, Jon started to buck forward, burying himself inside Dany with care. She sucked a breath in between her teeth. 

Jon smiled smugly, hands supporting the weight of her arse. "Trying a new angle." 

Without warning, he went in, ramming himself to the hilt inside Dany. Her eyes widened in surprise, mouth falling open in a silent scream as she got the entire length of his cock sheathed inside her. And then she moaned loud and long, a hand resting on top of his shoulder, the other coming to caress his chest. 

"Do that again..." Her whisper came hot and demanding. Jon obliged, leaning back and then slamming himself into her again. Her pretty eyes squinted, violet eyes burning with sheer lust as her lips pulled into a ravenous smile. Her thighs were quivering underneath his touch, a giveaway of her impending peak. 

"Now you've done it, darling..." Dany's hands made their way to his face, holding his cheeks and bringing their eyes so close the tips of their noses touched. She all but dove towards his mouth, taking his lips in a dizzying kiss that made him stumble a bit, her tongue lapping at his teeth insistently until his jaws unhinged and he allowed his bold aunt to plunder his mouth to her heart's content. 

The kiss made his cock twitch achingly inside Dany's snug warmth, swelling further with each passing second. Jon wasn't sure how much time passed until they parted again for some air. 

When she was satisfied, Dany leaned back and licked her lips, purring like a cat finished with her favorite saucer of milk. 

"From tonight onward, you'll take no other woman to bed." Her grip over his face increased, manicured thumbs digging into his cheeks. Dany's voice had a possessive edge to them; it was both arousing and unnerving. "If you have any...physical frustrations, you'll come to me and no one else. I'll satisfy your urges, love. With the utmost..." To put emphasis, Dany clenched her muscles around his cock, making him almost go cross-eyed. "...pleasure. Now, start moving those hips again, tomorrow is my free day. I want to feel sore and sated." 

He did as he was bid, _with pleasure, _and started ramming into Dany almost zealously, his thrusts answered by salacious mewls. Jon expanded his lungs and took a large breath through his nostrils. This would certainly be the most exertive bout of sex in his life. And he knew it would be all worth it. 

His heart pounded against his ribcage wildly, pumping the blood to vital organs currently doing overtime. Dany's breasts glided over his chest each time Jon thrust into her supple body.

The knot inside his stomach was starting to unfurl; Jon was nearing his end. 

"Fuck, Dany, I'm abou-_ Fuck!- _ I'm about to c-cum. Are you_-__Hngg__-_are you-_Oh gods-_are you close too?" Jon asked between pants, his cock still spearheading the conquest into her cunt. The muscles inside his arms were getting tired, but Jon resolved to hold Dany and fuck into her until she screamed her pleasure to the sky. 

Nodding against his neck, Jon heard her whimper as his hips drove between her thighs harder, tongue lolling out to lick the sweat trickling down the cords of his throat. "T-together, Jon, let's cum together!" 

With half a dozen thrusts, Jon could feel Dany's walls clamp down on his cock ferociously, his aunt's melodious voice singing into his ear as she peaked. Jon didn't last long either, the well inside his stomach reaching its maxim, and with one hard thrust buried himself as deep as he could inside Dany, his buttocks clenching as he unloaded himself inside her. Four long and thick spurts shot out of his cock, flooding her inner walls with his seed. 

The pair groaned in bliss as they both rode out their zenith. Jon came to sit down on a loveseat, practically collapsing on to the furniture, Dany's boneless form covering his body, a pleasurable feel of flushed skin against his. Her sweat-soaked chest heaved simultaneously with his, Jon breathing down Dany's neck while she had her mouth pressed against his shoulder. 

"That was..." Gods, he couldn't even formulate proper words to describe what it was they just indulged in. 

It was filthy, it was pure ecstasy, it was sinful, it was amazing. 

It was many words, and more. 

Right now, Jon didn't feel like putting a name to what they did. 

Jon wasn't sure if he felt like doing anything any time soon. 

Dany stirred against him, coming down from her high sooner than he and rose from their seat. Dany gave him a hard kiss, sucking on his tongue before she walked off. Jon looked at her with fixed eyes, watching as her hips swayed hypnotically. And then, she reached her table, placed a knee on top of it, and threw a look over her shoulder, sticking out her beautifully reddened rear. Her smile could've put the Cheshire cat to shame with its amount of self-satisfaction. 

"Surely, you're up for a couple more rounds, darling? After all, this is how you'll be getting your dues paid." A wink was thrown his way. "You should make the best of it, wouldn't you agree?" 

And just like that, his blood pumped up, and all the right organs started functioning again. 

Jon planted his feet on the marble floor, a new sense of vigor enflaming him, and smiled to himself as he neared his gorgeous aunt. 

Tonight was a night to let loose, after all. 

And he was sure to wallow in it as much as he could. 


End file.
